Crimson Lily Pavilion
by LePetitPappillon
Summary: It was as if he was thrown into another universe through some kind of terrible mirror, and even though his fists threatened to break the glass, there would be no chance of return.
1. Chapter 1

The boy released a disgruntled noise as his captor gripped his wrist, dragging him through those rain drenched streets, lit dimly by strangely alluring red lights. He was soaked through, and if he had not been making such unattractive cries, one could not tell that he was sobbing.

"Be quiet! I'll chop you up and feed you to the dogs in the street!"

The bones already tightly held within the owner's hand were given an even fiercer clamp, the boy taking warning from that hostile tone, even though he didn't recognize a single syllable in that foreign dialect. Sounds were choked behind his tongue, as well as those sullen tears, although his lips still bent heavily of discomfort.

They entered a large building that was made of three layers and looked to be extravagant, points upon the roof converting to nearly gorgeous fountains and large golden characters written in handsome strokes upon the building's brow. Immediately, the boy pondered their meaning, examining each little dip the writing's flow, but was left with steady dissatisfaction as he was dragged inside.

Even as they moved into the first level, the boy was not given any sort of relief upon his skin. He was pulled throughout each confusing corridor as a nuisance of heavy bricks, walking quickly within hallways and trudging those dirtied feet through a flight of stairs. They continued through more corridors and yet another hateful collection of risers, and the poor confused boy still found himself choking on ill formed sobs.

Upon the third floor, the boy was lead down a final corridor, its inhabitants only pretty screens on either wall, with shadows seeming to dance behind them in a numerous amount of poses, a figure preparing itself for a night far from home, two statues speaking, a silhouette sitting upon a comfortable mat and smoking a sort of pipe. Upon the last portal, the screen was slid open and the boy was nearly tossed inside.

"Arthur Kirkland! What in the world do you think you're doing?!" A man dressing in lovely silks turned to contain himself from any curious eyes, and glared at the intruder, his face the very texture and hue of a flawless pearl. His shoulders, somewhat rounded and delicate were slightly exposed from the sort of dress he wore, posed as if he captivated an ink painting. Crimson accented his eyes and shapely mouth, a little veil of ebony falling against the frame of that perfect oval, most being secured upon the crown of his head into an elegant bun.

For a moment, the boy's sorrows were stolen and a sort of calm overcame him. It was if he was regarding something divine. His regard was adhered to that feminine conundrum standing so near to that pretty window…Not one word from that entrancing mouth was comprehended, yet, he found himself hypnotized.

"Look! I've found a Japanese boy! I need you to take care of him."

"How do you even know he's Japanese? He looks like any other child to me…And why have you come into my room? Can't you find someone else who isn't occupied?"

"Well, no. I don't. And besides, you're actually descent with children." The man looked down at the beauty drunken child, eyes speaking of a sinister idea. "How is he Japanese?"

The poor creature was giving a powerful reprimand to the head and fell right to the floor, a string of angry Japanese syllables coming from that hardly grown body.

"Don't you hit him!"

"Well…He's Japanese, isn't he?"

The lovely man's well formed brows bent under weighty upset, elegant fingers kissing his temples as an exasperated sigh left his stomach. "Alright…Alright. He's clearly Japanese, and I'll take care of him. Just leave me be, and announce your presence the next time you come barging into someone's room. I was dressing."

"Oh, Yao. You make it seem like I should care." The blond man adopted a smile upon his lips and left the room to the angered beauty and stunned youth.

The Japanese boy, with silent tears staining his cheeks stood there and once again fought back ugly noise, this time to impress that mystical figure before him, holding eyes so drowned in sympathy.

"It's alright little one…I'm not going to hurt you…" His tone soft as unused cloth, absorbing any existing fear. "Do you speak Chinese?"

With what little knowledge of the tongue he had, he at least understood that question, alongside very few others. The Japanese boy shook his head.

"That's alright…You'll learn. What's your name?"

"Kiku…"

That odd man smiled, coming closer to that small body and kneeling before him, one of those long sleeves, composed of the most expensive sort of cloth wiped the pain from his eyes.

Kiku took in a breath, his nerves beginning to calm immediately, even though this gorgeous person, so confusing to the eye, had his hand all about his tiny frame.

Even as those fingers untied the knot keeping his kimono closed, he remained in an odd state of relaxation, somehow well aware of the other's kind intent. He would become sick if he remained in soaked fabric.

The damp cotton was peeled from his shoulders as a snake would abandon its skin, and he was left only with a loin cloth and shivering skin.

"I'll be back. Luckily my little brother is about the same size you are…" Bright lips curled into a comforting smile, and the owner exited the room.

In the lovely man's absence, Kiku took in the chamber, which also seemed to be full of little anomalies. A European style bed sat within the corner near a round window currently shut due to the unpleasant weather. Paintings with striking advertisements written upon them featured that very same doll he had seen only moments ago. They looked as posters one would see announcing a theatrical performance, having the subject wrapped in fantastic costumes and radical make-up. A silken dress hung about one of the walls, its lovely feet sweeping gently upon the floor and its body adorned with complex flowers. An extravagant chest lied in the corner behind him, embellished with rolling patterns and dyed sweet red.

Kiku simply devoured this universe of gorgeous things, pondering their complexities within in a heavy mind.

A little jolt entered his nerves as the door opened, and that enchanting figure returned with a large cloth draped over his hand and a small outfit hanging limply upon the other. A boy was at his side, embellished in clean white with short hair forced into an ill grown bun upon his crown.

Suddenly, the Japanese boy realized his nudity and flashed furious crimson.

"Yao, who is that?"

"His name is Kiku. I believe he's going to be living with us now, so be certain to be kind to him."

At the sound of his own name, the boy pondered the titles of the two before him, and in awkward, broken Chinese he asked, "What is your names?"

With those beaten syllables, the elder grinned. "I'm Yao, and this is my little brother, Hong." The child was wrapped within the cloth as the small set of clothing laid at his side.

"What kind of name is Kiku?" The question held no intention to cut.

Yao ignored the inquiry a moment, far too amused with drying the red fleshed boy. How strange it was how he stared, his skin so very shy…Yao couldn't believe his doll like qualities, with hair similar to that of a _kokeshi_, and an admirable visage. He was quite the little treasure.

"It's no wonder why he brought you here…You're going to be beautiful." An elegant finger slid upon Kiku's cheek, those lovely eyes so accentuated by red becoming deep wells of sorrow.

"Yao…"

"He's Japanese."

"Can he speak Chinese at all?"

"No…" Hair was ruffled by that dampened fabric, and finally clothes were donated to his barren limbs. "No…But he'll learn quickly."

"When he does…can I be friends with him?"

"Of course…" A pair of trousers was held before the Japanese boy and with caution he filled either leg with his little feet, having the waist pulled around his stomach.

"I think he'd enjoy that." Kiku's outfit was adjusted, and as the donor rose, he stole the little creature with him, hands immediately clipping to his neck and utter surprise.

"How do I look?" Yao turned to regard his brother, who simply offered a nod.

"Wonderful."

The owner of that fantastic appearance placed his unexpected gift upon the soft sheets of the bed, which was nothing but a total enigma to those tiny fingers. However did this man come across such a contraption?

"Please behave yourselves while I'm gone." Yao removed a comb from one of those generous sleeves and brushed quickly through Kiku's messy strands. Again, with sadness breeding within his stomach, he addressed his sibling. "Be certain…that if he runs, you tell someone. Stop him, at the very least. Mr. Kirkland will have my head if I let him get away…He seemed to forget I had things to do…"

A bobble of the head.

And as Yao left them to one another's company, their mouths became barren and their eyes full.


	2. Chapter 2

Kiku awoke from a world oppressed by frightening dreams and freezing palaces. His eyes filled with Yao's lovely visage at his side, its surface barren of the pearly substance that coded it only the night before, and his eyes lonely for that reddish glow. He was still beautiful, simply altered. The boy once again found his pain evaporating beneath his amazement.

One of Kiku's hands pressed softly to that cheek with sweet intent, careful not to wake the owner from his heavy peace. His flesh might as well have been silk itself, those fingers crying want for another quick grace of that wondrous surface.

A lovely smell infected his senses, and he had to wonder if it was simply the man before him or a fantastic perfume. It was flowers…So light and lovely, but still somehow lethal, as a spider luring its prey to imminent death.

_Was he truly here?_ The boy had to think for a moment where he had come from…He could remember a street drowning in a deep rain and a sense of urgency to find those people he had misplaced. He was so small in a world overgrown, as an ant upon the palm of a deity…

He was dragged away by that horrid blond man, who had captured him as a vulture from an empty sky.

And now, he lied here, under the covers of a European object next to a gorgeous man who seemed to masquerade as a gorgeous woman.

Yao's eyes opened and witnessed several silent tears lacing those pained wells, so entranced with a sort of intelligence one rarely found in small children. His white sleeve was raised, the possession of sleeping clothes, taking the upset from that _kokeshi's_ eyes.

"I know, little one. The first night is always the most difficult…But you'll be alright." Kiku's small form was stolen into an overwhelming embrace, his face coming close to that tempting neck and more emotion drained, as if this fantastic creature was taking an axe to a healthy dam. "We can be in a family, you and I…It's so much easier that way."

Even though Kiku's comprehension was extraordinarily low, that tone seemed to calm him, although several more tears came leaking from those broken windows, reddened by confusion and aching emotion. The speaker could utilize his voice as if he was playing an instrument wit masterful skill. Those words sitting warmly within Kiku's ear could be the foulest of profanities, yet he could only take them and pin them gently to his heart.

"It's a hard life…But it's not all so bad. You're young, so you can have an entire collection of talents, and as long as you listen to what Mr. Kirkland says, you'll be fine…"

The boy simply cried, distraught noise leaving his throat and turning his eyes to handsome buckets.

"Shh…Kiku, if Arthur hears you, you'll be in a world of trouble…"

The sobs, even though the bearer spoke no form of Chinese, grew somewhat quieter.

Yao lidded his vision again, allowing his counterpart all his distress, and procrastinating his actual awakening.

And as he relaxed, the Japanese boy loosened his muscles as well, coming closer to other's neck. It was nearly a wonderland, between the fantastic scent and the velvety touch. In a sort of distracted state, the child reached out his palm, so tiny from youth, and found a lovely crease within the elder's flesh.

There was a laugh, and a second, larger edition took residence upon Kiku's hand.

"I know…You're not the only one…" And another round of soft amusement. "You'd be surprised at how much that costs…A lot of men would consider you lucky…but we're not, are we?" The grip around Kiku's appendages became tighter, even somewhat endearing. "Maybe one day men will pay ridiculous sums to touch your neck as well…"

They were interrupted by the cry of an opening screen, and an angered Englishman standing there with a cigarette between his lips and the digits of a small boy caught within his palm.

"Yao, are you getting up?"

Hong stood at his side, his hair flowing onto his shoulders as a messy little cascade.

The lovely man didn't respond but sat up with the small boy within his arms, admitting him to the floor. Those once heavily coded eyes were wiped with skin utilized as a cloth, while the owner of that well composed set of features spoke.

"Am I ever allowed a break, Arthur? I returned this morning as the sun was rising, after another night of dancing, with drunken men touching me."

"Oh, poor darling. Do you want a cup of tea while you menstruate? Maybe I can come over and rub your back while listening to you cry."

At these hurtful comments, Hong seemed to have an uncomfortable feeling writhing within his belly.

"Come get breakfast. I don't care what you do with yourself afterwards… until you're on _my clock_."

The other sighed, his fingers pressing into that perfectly smooth forehead with brows breaking under the weight of what could have been several years of exhaustion. "Alright. Just don't be upset when you find me dead because you worked me like a mule."

"Mules don't die from work."

"No. But performers named Yao do."

"Quit your belly-aching! I feed you and pay you, don't I? And I've let you keep Hong here, even though at this point, he's nothing but another mouth to feed."

The boy under Arthur's observance stared a moment, with a heart missing a cardinal section. Naturally, the golden haired demon didn't pay even a mild regard, all his attention on the man across the room.

Yao walked to Arthur, stopping at his side and laying a kind touch upon his cheek and injected a stare livid with purpose into those angry jewels. Gently, his careful numbers removed the tobacco curled between his mounds and held it as a well achieved prize. "Come now, Mr. Kirkland." The voice projected was kept malleable, and softly a pair of admirable lips were pressed to the other's. "There's no need for all that…" The exchanged glances a long moment, communication knitting between stares, and finally, Yao returned the treasure to its original captor.

"Fine. Go eat breakfast." The Englishman's hand secured Hong's a little more tightly, and all his fiery attention was radiated into Kiku's miniscule, helpless form. "Just what the hell are you looking at? Are you hungry or are just going to stand there and stare at me like a dead fish?"

"I can't understand you…" The boy explained in soft tones, utilizing the only tongue he kept within that suddenly dry orifice. "I don't speak Chinese."

The thickly browed man released a sigh built of frustration, turning his back to the chamber and leaving.

Desperate for an answer or perhaps something more than a room livid with emptiness, Kiku followed as a mutt in desperation for an owner.

In the light of day, this strange building seemed completely different, almost beautiful. The walls were dyed in pleasant colors and several pleasing calligraphy paintings hung about them, sometimes the picture of a gorgeous man occupying a shining scroll hung upon the wall.

As they reached the bottom floor and descended into the kitchen, Kiku was greeted with the sight of enumerable attractive men, all dressed pleasantly with long hair tied upon their crowns in perfect little buns. The room was filled with that unknown tongue while bowls of congee occupied barren mouths.

Again, the Japanese boy found himself captivated, never before witnessing so many beautiful people in one area. Was this some sort of dream palace? It seemed impossible to have such a brilliant collection.

For a moment, everyone stopped to take in Yao and his small procession of children, some saying quick hellos, other simply returning to their bowls at the sight of the British demon named Mr. Kirkland.

Yao, followed by Kiku and Hong placed themselves at one of the empty tables waiting at the back of the space, a child at either side of the adult. Almost immediately, bowls were placed before them by a young servant boy, and without a single instance of hesitation or spoken word, the eldest began to eat.

Kiku stared at the contents of the bowl, a miniature vat full of all sorts of nutrients, yet his stomach seemed to churn. Not because of the ingredients warmed within the soup's innards, but because he was surrounded by an entire new life, and that upset his barren middle far more than any sort of food ever could. It was as if he was thrown into another universe through some kind of terrible mirror, and even though his fists threatened to break the glass, there would be no chance of return.

The boy's finger dipped into the substance inhabiting his bowl and as it exited with a light coding, he placed it in between his lips, unsure of what his opinion should be. He decided not to wonder upon such trivial pursuits and returned all his attention to the situation tossed before him, rather, the situation he was tossed into. Again, he was choking back a throat full of upset.

"Yao…Will you comb my hair after breakfast?"

"Yes…Of course…" The man answered with a tone full of sleep. "Thank you for watching Kiku last night…Did everything go well?"

"Yes. After a while, he just fell asleep."

"Good…Can I ask you another favor?"

Hong offered him a nod.

"Can you show him around today, or just keep him company?" That pretty figure had taken notice of the new child's sorrow, even though he was ready to fall head first into his wondrous breakfast and have bits of rice tangled within those tresses. "I have another busy night to look forward to, so…What little sleep I can get would be nice…"

The younger sibling nodded, ready to assist his darling brother in any way he possibly could.

"Thank you, Hong." Yao's fingers placed a few of those ink colored strands behind the boy's ear and wondered back to his meal, other thoughts occupying his mind as fresh water occupying a thirsty mouth, most of these droplets containing the notion of dreams.

After the three had finished their bowls, they returned to Yao's chamber, the Japanese boy submerged in dejection as well as thick confusion, and Hong in anticipation to have those itchy little bristles taken from his collar.

The moment they entered, Hong was adopted into kind arms and set upon that oddly located European bed.

Kiku watched as the other child's hair was brushed through with a loving and careful comb; then secured into that little knot with a piece of scarlet cloth. Yao's fingers modeled the hair around his face and offered his counterpart a grin alive with exhaustion.

"Thank you, Yao."

Instead of an answer, the boy was handed response in the form of a pat upon the head.

Hong inched himself from the plateau's edge and landed upon the floor, his feet making a small amount of noise upon impact. His gaze immediately regarded Kiku, who seemed somewhat distracted by the condition of his own hair, follicles out of place and begging to be secured into their proper assignments, while knots screamed against his ears in blatant anger. Fingers tried to quell that awful picture, but to no avail.

Instead of calling the boy to his side, Yao kneeled before Kiku, the comb's sweet bristles falling into that messy wave of unadulterated darkness and immediately turning hay into the finest of silks.

Kiku's face seemed to illuminate, having those elegant hands applied to his scalp so gently. That heavenly figure was so cautious, paying heed to each little stubborn tough, trying with such diligence not to tear away section from the poor boy's head with those fatal teeth.

Kiku looked into those tired eyes as his hair was combed, and tried so hard not to begin sobbing. The words of thanks he was looking for so desperately seemed miscarry within his throat, even though he paged through his mind in an active search for those syllables without the intent of giving up.

He was uncertain as to why this simple act brought him to such emotion, but it didn't seem to matter.

As a tear descended from his bleeding wells, he nodded and was given a nod in return, as well as a sad, torn sort of smile.

And Kiku and Hong left Yao alone to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur sat upon that strange bed within that room, so inhabited with oddities, and touched the man gently inside it. His fingers brushed past those midnight locks, not even causing the owner, so wrapped in beauty, to stir.

Mr. Kirkland truly did admire Yao, with his natural aroma of the finest blooms and unmatchable loveliness. One of his favorite things about this breathing doll was his fine lips, shaped to perfection, even more admirable when under a thick crimson veil.

He had experienced that smooth skin under his own body numerous times, and found himself addicted without shame, running back as any rich man to opium. Mr. Kirkland was well aware that Yao couldn't even stand as much as glancing at him, that he only tolerated these games because he was required to, so that he might even have a slight chance of achieving what he wanted from that Englishman…

But he truly didn't give a damn.

Arthur crawled into bed with arms wrapping around his most favored whore, touching those pale pink lips to that golden lobe and making the other awaken, if only slightly.

"Arthur, please…If I don't have any energy, how do you expect me to bring you money? It will be just another reason for you to beat me until I bleed…"

The Brit ignored him, sucked upon that flesh as if it was the most decadent of candies.

"Do you know I got you this bed?"

"So you could lie in it?"

"Mmm…" One of Arthur's hands slid along Yao's body, stopping upon his hip and resting there as an exhausted animal. "Yes." His fingers curled, relishing all that cloth wrapped around his jewel's body as if he was a sort of gift.

Yao sighed internally, knowing there could be no avoiding his captor. He was a fly within a well construed web, the more he struggled; the more thread suffocated him until each limb was paralyzed.

"I have to talk to you." A whisper drifted into the Chinese man's ear, sending a shiver to tear apart his spine.

"What about?"

"You brother."

"What do you want with him?" Immediately, the other's thin coding of sleep was shattered and his eyes opened, stomach drowning in rage. "I've allowed quite a few things, but the moment you harm him, I _promise_ you, _I will kill you in your sleep_."

"Calm down." The Englishman's hand found a place between those supple thighs, not yet breaching the paper keeping him contained. "He's getting old enough to begin training…If you like, you can teach him to sing."

"Arthur, I don't want him to be like me."

"But you're happy aren't you?"

"If I answer that question honestly, you'll be upset."

"Well…I have debts to pay. It's expensive to support someone who doesn't work."

"I'll pay his debts for him. He should be going to a regular school, to learn to read and write…So he can make something of himself."

"Hmm…Well, darling, who exactly owns who?" Arthur's hand snuck under his robes, finding something to tug upon. "For a moment I thought you were mine."

"Stop…"

"So, do you want to teach him to sing or not?"

"Fine. Just let me sleep." Yao allowed himself noise festering with defeat.

"What about the Japanese boy?"

"What of him?"

"He's about the same age as your brother. It would wise to begin their learning together, wouldn't it?"

"Why are you asking me…? You'll do what you please regardless of anything I say. I think you should let him go. Someone is looking for him, probably desperately…I know I would be upset if I was separated from Hong…"

"Of course."

Yao removed Arthur's fingers, gently taking them from his member and turned, facing him. "How can you deal with so many people detesting you? Every time I'm around you I feel angry..."

Mr. Kirkland traced Yao's upset face with a single numeral, posting his lips gently against the others, the touch being so kind, the receiver withheld powerful shock.

"Why do you kiss me that way?" The doll's cheek caught a warm grace. "You don't love me…There's no use in lying."

"But I do…"

"No, you don't…"The model's hand pressed to the Englishman's lips. "_You don't_."

But in a peculiar way, Mr. Kirkland did. He adored Yao as one would adore a fortune, or even a possession. And Yao fulfilled either of those wondrous qualifications, all rolled into one gorgeous cigarette, something he could use as well as sell. And Arthur truly believed he loved his little whore.

"Well…Don't believe me. I don't care. The only thing I can do is tell the truth." Their mouths connected again, this time with a new level of affection from the orifice of Mr. Kirkland.

"Not right now…I really need to sleep."

"Yao…"

"No, Arthur. Later, if at all…" Those dark wells of rich ink conveyed deep sadness, desperation for understanding livid within those pupils. "Please…You have an entire house of prostitutes. Don't you get sick of me?"

"No."

"_Why?_"

"Because I love you." Even his own lips curled at the sweet taste of that severe untruth.

"Stop lying to me! And get out of my bed!"

"It's _my_ bed, Yao. I bought it, remember?" A kiss.

"With money I had earned. It's our bed. Mostly mine because _you_ gave it to me, with _my_ earnings. Now get out. Let me sleep." The last bit was well playful, possibly the only thing Yao could do to save himself from a bloodied face and bruised limbs.

"Fine. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Thank you."

Before Arthur left the room, he stopped to admire that pretty body composed of unfettered exhaustion. Yes…This lovely man had bought so much of his life. Certainly, he had earned a few hours of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

So Kiku stayed, unsure of what would become of him, and uncertain if he would even come across that country drenched in sun once again. Perhaps he would become the Japanese boy who could no longer speak Japanese, having been kept in Chinese captivity so long, all the words in his vocabulary would shatter as a porcelain vase, unable to be put back together again.

Despite that possibility, he plotted no escape. There didn't seem to be a use for such a maneuver. Even though that white demon named Arthur Kirkland implanted fear within his little body, Kiku was an obedient child. If he ran away, there was nowhere to run to, and no one with wide open arms willing to steal him away from whatever fate lied for him. Where he was, at least he had food within his stomach and a man named Yao to care for him. Clean fabric covered his back. There was a playmate waiting for him as soon as he had enough Chinese inside his mouth to speak.

Kiku noticed Hong was busy most of the day performing chores, and wondered why he was not also given a mop and a bucket of chilly water. His assumption was his illiterate level of Mandarin, knowing that he would be unable to receive and understand any orders that were placed upon his fingers. In a way, he wished he was given a sort of task; most hours having been left to his own attention, there being nothing to accomplish when Yao was off with his own schedule. Hong was constantly keeping up with errands, and that left no one to give him purpose. Who is interested in a Japanese child who cannot speak?

So, Kiku used his free moments in the garden, sometimes playing games set within his own mind, imagination wrapping him in all sorts of wondrous fantasies, usually kept under the cherry tree upon a stone bench. When his thoughts weren't occupying him with day dreams, he tried with incredible fervor to remember words of that awful language, picking at his fingers while putting sentences together within his mind.

He refused to speak until he could hold at least a small conversation, not fluently, by any means, but coherently.

And with each day passing, his confidence seemed to grow as the seed of a sunflower, sprouting silently and becoming healthier, just as his vocabulary and desperation for communication.

One day, as he spoke those essential phrases to himself Yao came outside and found him beneath those heavenly blossoms and relinquished the spot next to him without any permission. He seemed distressed, those gorgeous wells teeming with livid emotion and coming towards the boy with a tinge of intensity, but in a gaze not born from anger.

And finally, without hesitation, Kiku raised his voice.

"Yao…How are you?" His syllables arrived as diamonds caught within stone, but his intentions were very much clear.

The beauty had nothing but shock within his soul as he stared at the child, bottom lip seeming to drop a bit. He had barely spoken, much less in Chinese.

"…Will you repeat that?"

"How are you? Are you al-right?"

Yao offered him a smile, that shapely mouth bending at its edges, despite the blatant depression living healthily within his eyes. "No, Kiku…I'm not." The boy was taken into his lap and the doll continued to speak. "Sometimes, I feel incredibly sad…and now would be one of those times."

Kiku looked into the elder's face, not creating noise, but listening.

"I'm…trapped here…If you didn't know. We all are…" Fingers drifted through the boy's locks, the owner of those elegant numerals holding him slightly closer. "And I want to be free…but how can a bird fly with broken wings? There's certainly no running…"

Kiku couldn't comprehend much of what was leaping from Yao's tongue, but he listened, regardless.

"I've seen so many come and go…People have _died_ here, Kiku. Almost all of them have overdosed on opium; I believe one was even murdered but I didn't know him very well. I've seen boys get their feet bound because they've tried to run, and I've been beaten more times that I can possibly count by a man who tells me he loves me. It just…crushes me, how hopeless it seems. And then I look at you and my heart breaks." They stared at one another, either set of eyes gentle. "You don't belong here…"

Kiku thought a moment, unsure of what to say or even what to think of those words, only truly recognizing a select few.

"I am sorr-ie, Yao."

"It's alright, little one." A lock of black hair was placed behind Kiku's ear and the man who allowed it there seemed to simply devour time to think. "Don't worry about me. Only worry about yourself." And even for only a short instance, a smile still oppressed by all the upset within his heart molded his lips. "I'm glad we can talk to each other."

"I am glad al-so."

Yao stayed silent, simply holding that small figure close as a jewel. One of his hands came to relax upon his pale cheek in a sort of admiration.

"You're a good child, Kiku…" Yao stood and placed the younger's bottom back upon the bench. "Don't change."

And as that near deity tried to walk away, Kiku's feet landed upon the grass and his fingers capitulated a few of Yao's.

"Please do not go…I want to…" He had to stop and think. "I want for you to be here." Usually, his words would contain les force, but a language boundary is a difficult one to break. "Be-cause you are sad…So don't be-cause…" Another moment allotted for calculation. "Be-cause I am sad also."

"Did I make you sad?"

"No…" Kiku's tiny numerals wrapped around the gorgeous man's center digits, his wells of gorgeous ink conveying every word his mouth could not. "I am sad if you go."

"…You're going to make me cry…"

And the Japanese boy's comprehension turned null.

"Will you lie in the grass with me?"

"…What?"

"Here." The boy was once again swept into a sweet embrace, and Yao sat upon all the tiny green phalanges reaching towards the sky and fell upon his back with the surprised child captive within his arms. His face was entranced with blush as a note was taken of the elder's fantastic scent and soft flesh.

Kiku was placed right against Yao's neck, palm lying upon his collarbone, which was submerged in the most gorgeous of silks.

And in that moment, that creature with so much pulchritude began to love Kiku. Not the sort of adoration between two lovers, or the sort of affection that acts as a demon and possesses the victim, but the kind of amity a brother has for a sibling years and years his junior.

A hand brushed past those ebony hued locks and the Japanese boy was kept at an even closer proximity…and the _kokeshi_ doll fell for the beauty.

"Yao…"

"Yes?"

"You're pretty…"

"Thank you, little one…You're pretty too…"

Out of impulse, Kiku's lips scrunched against the feminine man's skin, earning him an immediate intake of shock.

Kisses were _private_.

Kisses were _very private_.

And he had just given one to Yao, someone he admired since he had arrived but could not even _begin_ to know.

And he kissed him upon the _neck_.

_The neck!_

But the painful reprimand he was expecting never arrived. Instead there was a little laugh and an even more passionate embrace. In response, Yao admitted his mouth to the boy's forehead, coming into contact with smooth and well kept strands. A wondrous, yet overwhelming sensation shook him, dizziness filling his veins and offering his nerves intoxication.

It was no wonder why so many loved to kiss Yao…Why so many gave fortunes to do so.

Kiku would surrender anything to have just another…

So, gently, he pressed his mounds to the same place he just had, a bit of nervousness lining his core.

The gorgeous man simply lidded his vision from the world, running shapely fingers through a dark wave of silken thread.

Without a response, the Japanese boy simply settled in, suspending his sight as well for sweet minutes of relaxation. He swallowed his disappointment, knowing he was pushing luck from the very first accidental touch.

"Thank you, Kiku…"


	5. Chapter 5

After speaking with Yao, Kiku seemed to be adhered to the attractive man's side, spending more time in his company than even Hong, who was always caught within a complex web of chores.

And eventually, he had the misfortune of passing Mr. Kirkland within the halls while walking with his most favored person.

"Hey!"

For a moment, Yao chose not to acknowledge that rough noise and angered tone, although there was truly no reason to bare teeth.

"What?" He did not turn.

"How well can that boy speak Chinese?"

"He _can't_, Mr. Kirkland. That's ludicrous."

"Bring him over here."

"Arthur…"

"Bring him over, Yao."

The lovely man took the boy into his custody and walked to the blond demon, so much intent screaming within those emeralds, as if trapped there by some invisible force. Kiku was placed within his arms, a chilled sensation of unfettered fear instilled within his suddenly freezing blood.

"Can you speak Chinese?"

"Yes. I can speak Chi-nese. A little."

"Oh, look Yao. He somehow learned to speak in a matter of seconds! What's your name?"

"I am Kiku. What is your name?"

The green eyed monster laughed, taking some amusement from the inquiry. "Isn't that cute? I'm Arthur, but you better call me Mr. Kirkland."

"Ar…Ar-thhuuur…Mr. Kirrckland. Ar-thur "

The pale man laughed while the one clothed in fine silks sighed.

"Ar-thur Mr. Kirkland, why your face is weird?"

"Arthur, he didn't mean that!"

"No, I get it. You yellow bastards have never seen Englishmen before. It's fine."

"_What did you call us?_"

"Nothing, Darling." The boy's feet touched gently to the floor, his legs immediately propelling the rest of his body to Yao's side. "Well, if he can speak, he can work. Get him a broom. Those ridiculous trees are making a wreck outside. And when you're done with that, you can come pay me a little visit."

"…No."

"What?"

"I said no, Arthur."

"_No_? Well, _why_?"

"Because I have other things that need my attention…besides, this _yellow bastard_ is tired of pleasing someone who doesn't appreciate it. You can pay just like all the others do. Perhaps if I was allowed to keep the profits I've earned, I could buy a ticket away from this hellhole."

"_Keep your profits_? Look at the clothes on your back, you spoiled whore! Do you even know how much that make up costs? The outfit you're wearing _right now_?" Mr. Kirkland drew closer, rage burning within those blazing emeralds. "And you know that if you even attempt to run, I'll bind those feet of yours. You'll never be able to run again, much less _walk_, when I'm finished with you."

"I'd rather have my feet bound than carry on a single moment here."

Kiku's heart was racing, not comprehending a word of that dialogue, but knowing the tone well enough. His tiny fingers took Yao's as worried hostages while his teeth clamped upon his lower lip.

Arthur's hand came across Yao's face with incredible strength made by fury, knocking his corpse upon the floor and straight from Kiku's quivering grasp. Before the Chinese man could even rise, and before the Japanese boy could run any further, the other was upon him, slamming a fist with burning conviction into his face while holding the collar of his robes, nearly ready to tear them.

"Stop!" The child cried, his pleas falling into fictional ears. "Please, stop!" All his vocabulary came in the language he was most familiar with, as ugly sickness took an easy residence within his already writhing center.

When Arthur stopped his barrage, he lifted the bloodied man to a standing position and slapped him gently upon the cheek, as if it were all some kind of playful game. His skin was bruised purple and awful crimson by that blatant violence, and blood settled upon his bottom lip as if it were a cradle for a worn child, resting there with surprising ease.

"Is your nose broken?"

"No…" But scarlet liquid was rushing from it as water from a broken dam, capturing his bloodied mouth, which Arthur kissed almost _sweetly_.

"Are you seriously hurt?" A finger blade passed by that torn cheek, as a lover would grace the flesh of someone admired.

"No."

"What do you have to say for yourself, little Yao?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland…I spoke out of term."

"Yes. You have." A kiss upon the sensitive violet mark he had crafted while hands focused on the loose ruined gowns surrounding his marred counterpart. "Just how sorry are you?"

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Kirkland."

The Englishman settled against the other's hair, pulling away all the bloodied cloth and leaving him there, nearly nude.

"Yes. You've been a stupid whore, but I suppose even stupid whores can learn, can't they?"

"And I have…" Tears steamed against that sensitive cracked flesh while the bearer's face remained unresponsive. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland."

"Then I'll forgive you."

As their lips came together, and that poor broken figure moaned in biting pain, Kiku turned and ran; adrenaline as well as intoxication due to shock gripping his heart. He knew he should not have witnessed such acts, whatever they were. It seemed he wasn't the only one who enjoyed kissing Yao. Guilt came to him for even being possessed by such still demons, his body having seemed to convert to an ice sculpture.

The boy located a route outside, and stopped upon the stone steps laid before the building, his chest heaving and tears of various emotions marring his eyes. A newly born fear of Mr. Kirkland sat as acid within his stomach and brought more upset from his throat.

Whatever awful words Yao had spat, Kiku knew he didn't deserve such treatment.

And how Mr. Kirkland was touching him…

Why didn't that gorgeous man fight? Why did he accept the fists to his face and rib cage as if they were affectionate tinges of love? His arms hadn't any life as Arthur pounded his body into a bloodied rag…

It tore Kiku into little shreds knowing there was nothing his tiny spirit could do to help that lovely creature…He was adhered to his tiny hands and all his dependencies.

"Hello, Kiku…" Hong came next to the boy and sat down. "What's wrong?"

The new comer had just finished with an errand and found his distraught companion upon the steps littered by the corpses of several cherry blossoms.

Hong waited patiently for words, his hand placed upon his lap. An empty container sat at his side, just as eager for something to fill it.

"It's…" How could he possibly tell the opposite of what had occurred with his brother? His lips were welded shut.

"What?"

"Umm…" The bruises painted upon Yao's cheeks would be evidence enough. "It's…Yao."

"Yao? What happened?!" The boy stood immediately, Kiku catching his hand before the rest of his form could escape.

"Do-not go! Please…"

"But I have to see what happened!"

"No! You do not want see what happening."

Hong dropped his sleeves with furrowed brows and lips modeled in displeasure, taking his seat and resting those bothered cheeks within open palms.

For a moment, Kiku glanced at the boy, noticing similarities between his face and Yao's.

He held the same nose and eyes, but his lips were somewhat different, not to be described as malformed, but certainly not the plump cherries that took residence upon the elder's face. Hong's brows supported more weight, beginning as fat little caterpillars and then thinning into neat brush strokes. Yes…he would also be quite attractive when he aged.

"This always happens…Mr. Kirkland beat him, didn't he?"

"Yes…" Kiku could only really guess at what his counterpart was saying. "Arthur Mr. Kirkland…uh…"

For a moment Hong smiled, the bend of his mounds oppressed by the worries locked within his chest, but still amused at Kiku's horrid Chinese. "Do you want some money?" The box was taken from his side and the lid was torn from its body, the boy removing a few shining coins and dropping them into his companion's palm. "You can't tell anyone about these, because if Arthur knows, he'll take it."

The boy examined each shimmering jewel, those well embedded characters seeming to dance under the sun's sweet caress.

"You do-not have give to me."

Hong said nothing, only observing the clean line of blossoming trees.

"Are you sure you want me have?"

"Yes…Just don't let anyone see it."

"Thank you."

Hong took his share from the container and hid the cavity of that chest under a red lacquered hood, stowing those little treasures beneath a veil of worn cotton. Kiku did the same.

"I'm going inside now."

"Al-right. Thank you…"

Hong nodded and made his way along the steps.

When Kiku returned nearly hours later, he decided to pay that man with the glory beaten from him a visit, gathering what courage he could to open the screen hiding his chamber. He didn't want to witness his broken flesh, but he wanted to know, with near desperation, that his friend was at the very least alright.

He found the one in question sitting upon the floor, facing the window, moonlight drenching his skin in all its shining glory, almost masking those hideous bruises. Yao's hair was freed from all its usual confines, and left to kiss his back which was currently unclothed. Fabric hung loosely upon his waist.

"…Yao?"

"Yes?" That once sweet voice had shattered.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, little one…"

Kiku drew closer, his tiny feet stopping just before the man's strange tangle of legs masked by that confusing blanket of silk. Yao didn't bring his sight to the boy, but offered calm words.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Kiku…"

The Japanese boy didn't utilize any syllables, but sat at the battered deity's side, stealing away only a few digits.

The blood had been taken from his skin and the only things that left their ugly stains were those sour purple marks, screaming of all the pain the bearer had not. His right eye was completely swollen shut, and his body was layered with marks hued violet and burgundy.

"Are you alright?" Yao's voice came as a poorly drawn line upon clean rice paper.

"Yes…are you al-right?"

"No…But I'll be fine in a few days. I must be hideous."

"Yao is not…Hid-e-ous."

Moments were required for a response. "Thank you."

Kiku hadn't lied. Even though Yao had been beaten, some element of him was still gorgeous. That neck still retained all its beauty, as well as his body, and those hands were quite beautiful. Even those lips, once reddened with hateful blood kept their shine.

Without warning, the boy was swept up and held as a small girl would keep her doll. Kiku's head rested under that lovely man's chest, supported by a careful arm deeply submerged in delicate cloth, the boy's face illuminated by shy colors.

Yao didn't acknowledge him with his broken vision and marred features, but allowed a hand to rest upon his ear, that graceful thumb kissing his cheek.

"I'm so-rry, Yao…"

"No, little one…The only one who should be sorry is Arthur Kirkland. Don't worry about me."

The bruised man rose and placed the child upon his bed, then proceeded to adjust the loose fabric draped around him and staring outside from that gaping round window.

"One day, Kiku…I'll find someone who loves me enough to get me out of this place…and I hope it's someday soon…"

Kiku could only comprehend a few syllables, which seemed to confuse him even more heavily. What in the world was this fantastic person speaking of?

"If someone loves you, go with them. Even if you don't love them in return…Even if you _hate_ them. Because any life is thousands of times better than the one you'll have here."

"You love me?" The smaller asked without a thought and an accent thick enough to dismember.

The Chinese man laughed, a tinge of sadness ending his small edition of noise. "Yes, but I can't help you much, Kiku…"

"Hel-lp me?"

"Yes…"

The doll's brows bent under the weight of his misunderstanding.

"You'll know when it's far too late, little one."

Kiku paid little heed, this barrier coming to be quite the conundrum. But, in all honesty, he couldn't even attempt to care. Yao loved him…As taboo as it seemed to be, it was alive and breathing.

And Kiku loved Yao as well. They were a makeshift family and having anyone at all, even a troubled and beautiful prostitute was better than bearing life alone.


	6. Chapter 6

"Kiko."

Vision gave light to a blond Englishman in a foul mood, a small box within his hands.

"Hmm?"

Kiku had slept within Yao's bed, his back to the man's own shoulder blades.

"Kiko, what in the hell are you doing here? Did I not give you your own room?"

"…But I am Kiku."

"_Kiku?_ Certainly not what I heard yesterday."

"My name is Kiku."

"You name is whatever I decide it is, you little shit. Get out of that bed. I'm guessing you don't want to look like your ugly companion there."

Kiku sat up and glanced into those English eyes, trying to capture some section of his angry soul in his childish fingers. What had happened to this man to make him so foul? Was he born soaked in evil? Had his mother's womb been a basket of unforgiving thorns?

"Just what in the fuck are you looking at?"

"I am sorry about you are mad, Arthur Mr. Kirkland."

"What? What's the matter with you? Get out of that bed." Even though the tone was harsh, those windows usually so worn down by livid rage seemed to soften minimally.

Kiku followed the British man's demand, trying to slip from the sweet grasp of the sheets, but his form proving too small to accomplish such an overbearing task.

Arthur took him beneath the arms and placed him upon the floor in either in patience or pity.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Kiku."

"Well Kiku, after breakfast you're going to find Hong and deliver this package." The container that had been left upon the bed's surface was given to his palms. "You are _not_ to open it. Do you understand?"

"Yes…"

"Repeat it back to me."

"I am finding Hong after…eating and we uh….give this…" He lifted the container. "To some…body." His bottom lip served as a cushion for his upper teeth. "And I am not to op-en-ing this."

"Good. Now go. And don't you ignore my orders. I'll beat you."

"…What?"

Simply, Mr. Kirkland pointed to Yao.

"Oh…"

"Yes. Get out."

Kiku listened, the same fear once again hitting him as a splash of chilled water to a sleeping face.

The Japanese boy came to breakfast and assumed a place at Hong's right. The box found home between them upon the table.

"Oh…Is that from Mr. Kirkland?"

The other nodded.

"Did he tell you to come with me?"

Again, an affirmative bobble of the head.

"Alright." Hong stole the package and stowed it at his side.

"Hong, what inside that…" Kiku pointed to the chest.

The opposite glanced around the room as if poisonous ears had the intent to listen, and drew closer to Kiku, his lips mouthing a single word in a quiet whisper.

"Opium."

"_What?!_"

"Shh! I'll show you when we leave here."

"But, Hong! O-pi-um is bad!"

"Hush!" The Chinese boy smacked the other in upon the cheek lightly, but with enough conviction to shut his mouth. Immediately, his voice evaporated within his throat and desiccated into a whisper. "Do you know how much trouble I'll be in if Arthur found out I knew what was inside that box? He would beat everyday for an entire week. Be quiet, Kiku!"

The _kokeshi's_ fingers soothed his flesh the moment Hong had painted it pink.

"You did-not have to hitting me."

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean it."

"It is al-right."

Kiku had been there long enough to know what opium was. He had seen those gorgeous men drifting throughout the hallways, pipes poised between their lips as the sweetest of candy. Their bodies moved carelessly, as if they were suspended in a world of clouds, content chasing after their golden dragons and lost deities.

Terror lived inside him of that mysterious substance that placed a vice upon so many, knowing that it warped minds as well as very existences. It was the very reason why Mr. Kirkland had come to China, and the very reason why Yao was a bloodied mess, sleeping in peace within his room. It was the very reason why that gorgeous creature was a prostitute in the first place, even though he refused to allow the pipe to touch his lips.

Kiku didn't have a grasp for the impact opium had, but he knew it was an evil thing, and wondered why in the world he was going to deliver it to someone as if it was a wondrous sort of gift, something he wasn't allowed to see himself.

When the boys' stomachs had been well occupied, their feet lead them into the sun with the container under Hong's arm. Kiku stared at it as if its arrival had been from hell's generous arms. He wondered why two boys had been given this particular task, and pondered if his companion was an addict himself.

"Hong…"

"Hmm?"

"Do you…um…" What in the hell was that word? "Do you eat the op-i-um?"

"What? You can't _eat_ opium. That's silly."

"No! I mean um…" His brows bent. "Do you…drink…"

Hong began to laugh. "You can't drink it either!"

"_No!_"

More amusement flooded the other's belly at Kiku's struggle. "Than what are you asking?"

"Do you…use the op-i-um?"

"_What?!_ No! I would never use that stuff! It's disgusting!"

A bit of relief found the Japanese boy.

"Why?"

"Be-cause I wanted to know you did-not use the op-i-um…"

"Oh…" Hong felt guilty. "I'm sorry…Do you use opium?"

"No!" Kiku shook his head with vigor. "It is bad!"

He was answered by a firm nod, and for a moment, their feet slowed and they ceased their progress.

"Do you want to see what it looks like?"

The Japanese boy thought seriously a few seconds, treating the situation as if his entire life depended on this very decision. "No…"

"Alright."

They completed a few more paces and stopped a second time.

"Wait…I do want see what…" Kiku had to calculate his syllables. "What it look like."

The chest was offered to his custody, his arms careful with a respect born of fright. Tiny fingers picked at the latch keeping the innards of the package from everyone's hungry eyes, and in that moment Mr. Kirkland's threat filled his ears.

He didn't want to be beaten.

"No…" The _kokeshi_ doll returned that awful treasure.

"Why?"

"Arthur Mr. Kirkland…"

"He won't know if you just look…"

"Are you sure?"

"I won't tell him."

Giddy fingers pushed away the top of the lid from its body, and Kiku found what so many desired, black stones composed into perfect little rows and each one glaring with malicious intent. Every edition had an aura of destruction, and the boy felt corrupt even allowing his gaze to lightly brush those horrid things. Immediately, he closed the container and locked it.

"…They're ugly, aren't they?"

Kiku swallowed, offering a quick bobble of the head.

They were the ugliest things he had ever seen.

"Come on…" Hong pulled softly upon the other's sleeve. "We have to be on time…"

"Al-right."

And as the two moved throughout the streets, overtaken by those enormous buildings and strange people, Kiku observed that world, drinking it down as the most fabulous of teas. He had yet to truly see it, having been caught inside Mr. Kirkland's dungeon for much of the time since he had arrived. This would be his new home, the universe that would dominate him and amaze him time and time again.

The two boys soon found themselves at the entrance of another constitution that resembled where they claimed their residence. Hong knocked, yelling, "I'm here!"

The door creaked from its frame, revealing an old woman with a large stomach and a forgettable face.

"Hello, Hong…Who is this?"

"This is Kiku. He's my friend."

"Ah. Hello, Kiku. You have an interesting name."

"Thank you. I am Japan-ese."

The woman smiled, sending a certain chill ringing throughout the boy's spine.

"Well, I'm going to assume that box is mine."

Hong nodded and held it out almost as a sacred offering to a great beast.

"Thank you." The chest full of that fetid substance was stored beneath her gigantic hold and a few coins were distributed to either child.

"Thank you." Both responded, the amount being far smaller than yesterday's profits.

And the door closed at they moved away.

"Did you coming here yester-day?"

"No…I went somewhere else."

"Oh." Kiku looked at his coins. "Do you want that I coming with you?"

"Yes…It's nice to have someone to do chores with. Usually, I'm bored."

The other agreed within his movements, then gave his attentions to all the shining little trinkets sleeping upon his palm.

"I'll keep those for you."

"What?" Kiku stared at him. "No. You will keep them for you."

"I won't…Besides, I have a hiding place in my room. If you keep them in your clothes, someone will find them and then Arthur will beat you for hiding money from him."

"Do you pro-mise?"

"Yes."

Kiku offered his coins to the other set of fingers, thinking for only a moment. "You use those and I telling Arthur."

Immediately, Hong's brows arched. "I'm not going to. I promised. You don't have to 'telling Arthur' anything, stupid."

"…I am not stu-pid."

"Then trust me."

For a moment, the Japanese doll stared at his feet, shame entrancing his blood.

"I am sorry, Hong."

"It's alright…I'm sorry too."

Kiku stopped and wrapped his arms around his counterpart, all of his intentions flowing through those little limbs.

Blush spread across the unsuspecting victim's face and despite his blatant embarrassment, he gave his embrace in return.

A few people stopped and regarded the two in their forgiveness, little snickers coming from their cruel lips.

Soon enough, their forms came apart and they continued along their path home.

"Thank you, Kiku…"

"Thank you also, Hong."


	7. Chapter 7

"Arthur…"

Two lips secured themselves at the beautiful man's ear while fingers located a pink blossom located upon that honey colored chest, blades administering a pull that provoked a moan.

"A-ah…"

"It feels good doesn't it?"

"Mmm…"

The Englishman's tongue sweetly touched the base of Yao's ear, adopting the lobe as a sugary confection, and savoring it as if it required a fortune. As a thumb and middle finger kneaded the other's nipple, an unoccupied palm rested upon his neck, patient before allowing those evil numerals travel along the other's figure.

A kiss found inhabitance upon Yao's reddened skin, beginning a small collection of careful graces progressing along his face and ending upon his cheek, pink as a cherry blossom. His tongue flickered upon that lovely apple, no shame inside that English body. A small bite was taken of his peach.

"No…Don't. It still hurts…"

Arthur took the roughness from his affection, those aggressive mounds converting to something even loving.

Days had passed since the man's beating and he was left with the remnants of bruises, their marks only lingering through sensitive yellow scars, all of which gave a hideous view upon something usually so perfect.

"Aah…"

Arthur's hands moved along Yao's body, ceasing at those slender hips, the same flesh so many others had graced with shameless touch.

"You're lovely…"

That flawed doll closed his eyes to Arthur's compliment and allowed a soft noise of pleasure as his member was messaged with something resembling adoration, although he was well aware that all this love was faux.

"All this moaning and you're barely hard…"

The Chinese man did not make reply, only leaned his head upon the other's shoulder as if it was a cushion built for that very purpose.

"Would you like to fix that, Mr. Kirkland?"

"I'm certain there's something that can be done…"

As the Brit's rough fingers smoothed over the other's shaft a lovely cry was birthed into the air from that pair of perfectly sculpted lips.

"Kiss me…"

"_What now?_"

"Kiss me…Please."

The Englishman moved to Yao's side and connected their mouths with a degree of intense passion, their tongues intertwining as strands of a tightly woven braid, curling together as indications of pleasure launched from the base of either's throat.

"Ahh…There we are."

"Mmm..." Yao's blood had begun to flow unmercifully, every nerve of that gorgeous body affected by relentless ecstasy.

Arthur kissed him with even more conviction, his tongue probing in even more deeply, and saliva forming between their lips as a product of their love making. The blonde's free hand sat upon Yao's lower back, drawing that shapely body in at an even closer proximity.

Their embrace grew more involved as that light palm pumped with excess vigor.

"A-ah!"

The deity's tongue was caught within the demon's orifice, and suckled upon lightly as his fingers continued to send throngs of utter ecstasy through his counterpart's body.

Yao absolutely hated Arthur Kirkland for everything he was.

But he would take the mask of a fetid liar the moment he denied this man's abilities.

"I want to fuck you…"

"No, please…I'm so close…"

Their mounds slammed together violently again, no time wasted in the meeting of their tongues.

"_Aaah!_"

And Yao's delicate hands sought comfort upon Arthur's shoulders, his seed draining from him and coding the British man's unsuspecting palm.

"Ah…"

That gorgeous man allowed his forehead to adhere gently to the other's, their mouths meeting in a kind embrace. Yao could feel the other's persistent length pressing upon his thigh as they drew nearer to one another, red embellishing his face in that very touch.

"Hmm…"

"Did you like that?"

"Yes."

"Good."

And as the two continued their exchange of little meaning, either boy looked at each other, their bottom lips seeming to drop if only slightly. They watched through their make-shift peephole, a small crack between the screen and the frame.

"What you think they just do?"

"Shh…" Hong watched that performance upon the familiar stage, then gave Kiku a fragment of his attention, although his eyes did not deviate from the pair. "I don't know…but they seem to do this a lot…"

"You think Yao is pain-ful?"

"…I think so…" Hong glanced at the space between his own legs, cringing at the thought of anyone tugging upon that sensitive organ.

Their regard fell back to Arthur and Yao as the slender man dropped to his knees and pulled upon those misplaced European trousers, releasing two thighs illuminated by little golden hairs. His graceful hands yanked upon those undergarments, an enigma to the two spectators, giving the British man's member to the light.

For a moment, Yao allowed his fingers through those pale curls that surrounded the other's cock, amazed every time he witnessed each of those sunny stands.

"How about you put that in your mouth, sweet heart?"

The Chinese man looked up at him a moment in utter contempt, all the proof livid with those gorgeous wells of ink. Yet, he did just as he asked, that pink head finding a silky crevice to fill.

Yao's tongue played easily with his flesh, making pretty circles while massaging the shaft with a tantalizing hand, brining Arthur a potent mixture of satisfaction and heat.

"Ahh…That's right. Eat it like candy…"

Yao began to suck lightly, The Englishman's member coming in a little deeper and occupying his orifice heavily.

A few digits traced through that black cascade, tucking them near sweetly behind his ear as his head bobbled with a little more potency. For a moment, Mr. Kirkland's cock was taken from his counterpart's mouth as a tongue traced around the very tip, horrid waves of raw feeling pumping through the owner's blood.

"U-ugh…Don't play with me."

Yao simply licked along the shaft slowly, all the control shifting to his very palm.

"Come on…Suck it."

Yao smiled as his tongue slurped from his balls to that blushing head, his fingers seeming to slow with all his silent defiance. He loved to tease that awful man.

"A-ah…Yao."

"You can't fool me, Mr. Kirkland…" A kiss. "I know exactly what you like." And Arthur was submerged.

The man created a small vacuum between his lips, a free hand drifting through that little thicket of gold, false love marking those delicate appendages only to please that Englishman. Yet, he found himself fascinated, that being evident even down to his very blades.

"Mmm…Yao…" A gasp. "I'm going to fuck you so hard…"

That he didn't want. The beauty tolerated these liaisons, allowing those coarse hands to mar his body and accepting the work his mouth was given, but he could hardly stand those rough thrusts, so eager to receive pleasure that they paid no heed to the pain they inflicted. He was never gently; only merciless.

Arthur's member was buried in even deeper, those lips dragging themselves directly from the tip and nearly to the base.

No…

Arthur was going to finish.

"Ahh! Yao!" The Englishman cried through grasps, a hand fisting a large section of that silken hair, all regard for the rest of the world leaving through those very nails. "Deeper…"

That orifice came to the hilt while a hand rested upon that cloth barren hip, those sculpted petals retaining their place a moment before retreated to the top.

"Ahh…Suck that cock."

Yao was tempted to bite.

And again, that member was enveloped as if a sort of trick was occurring, the lower portion of Mr. Kirkland's manhood getting all levels of attention.

"How is he do that?"

Hong could not even muster an answer.

The two could only regard in a solution of awe and horror as the Chinese man painted unfettered joy upon Arthur's visage, those eyes shutting almost peacefully and heavy brows lifting.

"_Yao_…"

"You think Arthur is painful?"

"…I don't know."

A gasp came into the air, followed by the occasional grunt of those parted lips.

"A-ah…Oh god…"

Yao pulled away a bit, working only upon the head of that swollen organ, his tongue molding around Arthur's member as the warmest of clay.

"Yao!"

A filthy lick and a slow grace of the fingers.

"Ah! I'm…ah-I'm going to come!"

The Chinese man did nothing, far too preoccupied with his current profession.

"Please…stop…"

The other could not hear.

"Yao…"

Mr. Kirkland's member was left to the air as a set of fingers stroked him softly, moans tearing from the blond's throat and white ropey liquid draining from his member.

"Ah…"

The discharge was cleaned away by a bit of saliva, and the man who caused such a reaction stood and adjusted his robes. His owner was kissed upon the cheek, still entranced with pleasure.

"Damn it."

"I know, darling. You'll simply have to come back another time."

One of the Englishman's hands found the other's bottom and offered a tight squeeze, causing the gorgeous doll to regard him a moment, the usual depression returning whenever he was in the presence of Mr. Kirkland.

"Hmm…" Undergarments and trousers were pulled around Arthur's waste, and he returned to sober. "That was nice."

"Thank you."

"Right well. I'll come back tomorrow." Yao was given a kiss upon the cheek, and as the donor of such a grace turned, Hong pulled Kiku abrasively by the sleeve and they snuck into the next room, the door closing quietly behind them.

"Hong, what that stuff was?"

"Why do you think I know? But whatever it was, it was disgusting…"

Kiku nodded, directing his focus to his thighs. "You think we have it?"

"No!"

"No…We do not."

Shock vibrated throughout their bodies as the screen pulled from its home upon the frame and Mr. Kirkland was standing before them with a smirk written haphazardly about his face.

They all stared at one another, either child with brightened cheeks.

"Look at you little eavesdroppers."

No words were allowed calculation.

"You know, you're going to learn to do that."

"What?" Either located their throats.

"That's right. Maybe even to me one day. We'll see how you two turn out."

"_Turn out?_" Kiku inquired, miscomprehending the very meaning of those words.

They were given a wide smile. "If I catch either of you watching again, I'll beat your eyes shut so you can't spy any longer."

Hong adopted raven orbs of terror while Kiku simply looked lost.

And after a few long painful moments, Arthur turned and left them to an empty bedroom and minds full of acidic thoughts.

"…What he say?"

"…Don't worry about it. We just can't do that again."

"Oh…"

"Come on…Let's go outside."

"Al-right."

That night, neither of them could sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Kiku awoke to an outfit being tossed upon his little body, and an Englishman holding the hand of a boy standing beside him, clothed with the same fabric that was bestowed upon the Japanese child.

"Hmm?"

"It's time to get up, Kiku. I'm taking you two to class."

"C-cl-a-ass?"

"Yes. C-cl-a-ass." Arthur imitated his accent in the cruelest fashion he was capable of, his syllables even rougher than they had been from the mocked boy's mouth. Kiku, if only for a moment, seemed truly damaged.

"Don't you look at me that way, you little bastard. _Get up._"

The Japanese boy rose, taking the clothes from his center and wiping away the sleep that had gathered within his eyes. He began to undress, despite being in the others' presence, that bland set of fabrics they had given him covering his skin as soon as it became bare.

His night clothes lay in a pile without care before his feet, and the boy took a moment to brush off the acquired skin he found himself layered in. It almost seemed a size too big, and the scent cried of dust, having been lost in some unfortunate closet for quite the duration.

Kiku gave his gaze to Mr. Kirkland, who returned his attention in the form of a blatant stare.

"Do you have a comb?"

"No…Yao is to brush hair usu-ally."

"Alright, well it's too late for all that. Come with me."

The child stepped forward, his little fingers becoming the bristles of a determined comb, each trying to arrange those messy black locks into the pattern they were frequently found in. He stood next to Mr. Kirkland, who took one of those make-shift brushes from him for his own palm, and they began to walk.

For a moment, either youth regarded the other with curiosity, the Japanese boy lost in a well deeply full of confusion. There was no word in his vocabulary to match that terrible phrase Mr. Kirkland had used to chide him.

Class…

But as a good child, he simply followed along, knowing he would receive nothing from struggling.

They all traveled through town, all the sights they had stolen just days before offered to them a second time, whirling past them in a lovely hurricane, all the color and smells and unfamiliar faces giving them only a moment's pleasure before leaving them behind to new fascination.

Eventually, they found their feet before a door that seemed as if it once belonged to a large palace, although the actual institution resembled something completely surreal, with dirty walls and worn paper screen windows. The portal told several lies, each one of them sweet as a plum.

Arthur tugged them inside and led them along a corridor before their eyes offered the sight of several other children clothed in the same attire. Some even seemed to wear the faces of young girls, but any hair long enough was constricted into a relentless bun, and every outfit went with the very same design and hue. It was impossible to tell.

An old woman stood in front of that herd of children, her visage worn from several years and her skin yellowed with age. She spoke with Mr. Kirkland, but Kiku could not match a word of what she had said to his own handful of knowledge, although he sorted and organized each fragment several times in the past.

"Yes, yes. We'll be on time." He looked at his small collection of boys, shaking them from his fingers and pointed to places to occupy their bottoms.

Kiku and Hong took their homes and the old woman began her speech again. Her words were for the ears of all attending, although no one truly seemed to be very interested in her message. Perhaps they could not comprehend her either. And like many, Kiku simply fiddled with his ebony straw, so ruined by the awful claws of sleep.

And even though Hong could understand the words birthed from this woman's mouth, he chose to simply pick at the skin beneath his nails, only listening partially, severally involved with each little appendage.

Neither noticed that Arthur Kirkland had left.

Eventually, the old woman's orifice gave birth to a command, forcing everyone's legs to stretch and their bodies to rise. The only one who hadn't followed this order was the Japanese boy, who had become well entranced with his messy hair.

"Kiku! Stand up!"

Hong pulled at his counterpart's sleeve as a persistent bird, and he joined every other tiny body within the room, all imitating the leader's odd movements, her bones worn as ancient stone, yet her movements graceful as falling blossoms in spring.

Kiku didn't understand what all of this was…He was inside a class learning to move those tiny limbs with one of his only friends. But why had he been brought here? What was the point of knowing to move your foot a certain direction and the rest of your form the other? Would he become Yao, a god doing whatever it was those silken deities did?

And for a moment, he desired tears.

Would this be his new life? Dancing and running errands for a boar who threatened to beat him anytime they made contact?

Just why in the hell was this life granted to him, something he had not wanted; something he was forced to inhabit as clothing and wear as a firm glove?

He wasn't even certain of his location in which he lived, that obnoxious building with letters that screamed printed upon its very brow, and yet, he could not even begin to hear them. They fell upon his ears as words of adoration to a deaf man.

So, Kiku made his way throughout these procedures awkwardly, so many incoherent thoughts wreaking havoc upon his mind as bandits through a peaceful village, shattering everything and making his heart flood with mixed sadness and anger.

…He was so tired of being lost.

_What was this? _

But as soon as a question arose, it was killed by the movement within his limbs, ripped into sections and divided between emotion and dance.

An hour passed, and the entire room was given their time back to do as they pleased, all the tired children congregating to the exit.

Kiku walked outside with Hong, finding Mr. Kirkland propped against the wall with a cigarette nourishing his lips, a box tucked securely within his palm. The blond required a long drag before even allowing his glance to affect the two children.

"How was it?"

"It was fine Mr. Kirkland." Hong was the first to speak.

"Well good." His tone remained indifferent, flat as smooth fabric. "You'll be taking music lessons as well, but not today." Those awful jewels shifted to Kiku, who had a slight mist marking barriers around his eyes. "What's the matter with you?"

"No-thing, Mr. Arthur Kirkland." A single tear proceeded upon his cheek and lost its life in a small burst.

The British man smirked, amusement feeding his very hunger for satisfaction, all coming from the boy's poor language skills. "Good. We're going back now."

And the blond rose, brushing the dirt from his misplaced English style clothing and regarding his children. A sigh drifted from his lips and sat healthily within the air. Kiku was taken into his arms while Hong was given his usually set of fingers.

"Come on."

Tiny numerals curved around those numerals and the three began to move, Kiku a bit shocked at the monster's sudden regard.

The Japanese child's hands captured his neck by gentle means and a few voiceless tears took life upon his skin. The lesson of crying silently had been stored in rich memory. Arthur pretended not to notice the boy's upset.

The walk back seemed to be the longest trip they had taken yet, the carried child allowing his broken emotion to impregnate his eyes, giving birth to that crystalline pain as sniffles, stifled by concern and bearing their presence in quiet solitude.

Mr. Kirkland wondered why he had become so tolerant.

As soon as they returned home, Hong released the adult's hand and went off along his own path while Kiku was set before the open mouth of Yao's chamber, his body and mind left to rot in confinement.

"Arthur Kirkland, what did you do to him?"

An answer did not begin or end.

"Kiku, what did he do? Has he hurt you?"

"No…I just feeling sad."

Yao immediately took the boy into an embrace draped in silk.

"Yao…What this place is?"

"…You don't need to worry about that right now." The gorgeous man's stomach turned to a pit of ugly disturbance.

"No…I want to know. Please tell me."

"Kiku…"

"Please, Yao..."

The child stared at that man with little intensity, placing his breaking heart within those elegant fingers.

"It's um…It's a whore house, Kiku."

"A-a what?" A small sleeve brushed past that nose, wiping away little bits of discharge. "What that is?"

A hand rested upon the golden one's cheek, and the boy was given a considerate kiss upon the forehead. "You'll understand more when you're older…" Yao's eyes moved to the floor supporting his feet. "…I'm a whore…And I'm sold every night." Those very syllables seemed to slash the bearer's throat as they were given to the listener's ear.

"A…whore?"

"…Please don't think anything less of me."

"But what that is?" The boy's pain was replaced by insatiable curiosity.

"You'll know soon enough…"

"I being a…whore?"

"I truly hope that you'll never have to be."

Kiku sniffled, even more lost then previously before, a few final tears descending as he stared at his idol, newly classified as a whore.

"Please don't look at me that way, Kiku…" Those few droplets were erased. "Do you hate me?"

"No! I love Yao!" Emotions of a new breed were born into the representation of sorrow. "I love you…" He spoke in Japanese, truly meaning each syllable.

Yao smiled and took him into another embrace. "Thank you, little one…I love you too." The man walked closer to his bed, stopping at the window with robes gently drifting upon the floor, light filtering onto either of their frames and turning them to handsome paintings. "You know, I never wanted this life for myself. I truly hope you don't grow to hate me…And I truly hope you can find a way out before you become like me."

"I can-not hate you…Because I love you…" Kiku managed, his little hands gripping tighter, as if he released that gorgeous figure, he would be gone forever, existing only in his dreams.

"Thank you, Kiku…"

The broken child rested within the whore's arms. 


	9. Chapter 9

"Mr. Arthur Kirkland?"

The Englishman was sitting outside beneath the gentle arms of the blooming cherry tree with a cigarette kept within his mouth, once again flicking away grey little bits of ash before even giving acknowledgment to the boy.

"What is it?"

"What a whore is?"

Those brilliant emeralds absorbed him a moment before the man began his fit of joy. "Oh my god! You can't be serious!" His spontaneous upset required several seconds. "Can you repeat that, in bad Chinese and everything?"

"Please do-not laughing at me, Mr. Arthur Kirkland. I am try-ing."

"Alright, alright…" The man reiterated, gaining slightly his composure. "Alright, I'll tell you. Come sit with me."

"…What?"

"Come si-it wi-ith meee."

"You do-not have to being mean…"

"Talk back again and I'll hit you. Sit up here."

The Japanese boy listened, taking a place next to the Englishman, and pointing his vision into the little green fingers beneath them, unable to look into those terrible eyes.

"Ask me again."

"Oh…Um, what a whore is?"

"_What is a whore_." The man corrected.

"What is a…whore?"

"Yes. That's how you say it. Someone has to fix your grammar."

"What is…" Kiku's brows furrowed, his mind filling with this new phrase. "What _is_?"

The other nodded.

"Al-right. What is a whore?"

"A whore is someone who sells sex for money." The man answered simply, taking a long drag upon his tobacco and exterminating the shorted roll upon the grass, exhaling disgusting smoke as an angered dragon.

"What a-" Kiku thought. "What is a seckts?"

"_What is sex_."

"What is seckts?"

The Englishman chuckled, his cheeks seeming to brighten from the child's confusion. "Are you sure you want the answer to that question?"

"…What?"

"Do you want the answer? You're going to scream."

"To…scream?"

Arthur released a blood curdling holler, causing the smaller of the two to retract in fear.

"Why you do that?!"

"To scream. That's screaming."

"Oh…Well, what is seckts?" The boy's body seemed to calm.

Arthur thought a moment, unsure of how to explain sex to a child who didn't possess the vocabulary to understand what exactly he was going to tell him.

"It's…Naked bodies touching."

"Na-ked…Bodie touch-ing?"

The Englishman sighed. "Do you remember what you saw? Between Yao and I?"

"Yes…" However, he didn't desire to.

"That's sex."

And for a moment, the boy looked horrified, a bit of shock taking him as that information sunk in slowly.

They sat there in silence for seconds that seemed to require years, Kiku's mind trying desperately to wrap around what exactly he was just told.

"And a whore do that…for money?"

The other nodded.

"B-But…Do I be be-coming whore?" His voice cracked under worry and urgency.

"Yes. Eventually."

"But! I can-not do!"

"Sure you can, Kiku. You've got a mouth, don't you?" The boy was given a firm pat upon the arm. "I'll see you around. And don't try to run. I'll break your legs."

And Kiku was left to sit there.

Mr. Kirkland had been correct…He did want to scream.

For several minutes, he lingered with every part of him mortified, his head filled with nonsensical thoughts that raced around him as a howling typhoon, his stomach inhabited by ugly sickness.

He had to run…

He had to run far away from this hell and never return.

In his troubles, Kiku began to sob, truly not wanting to be one of those gorgeous men. He didn't desire to do disgusting tricks with his tongue, or anything else for that matter.

He would have to leave Yao, who he loved but could not become.

But his life was so much more pertinent than staying with that kindly doll…

And he could not remain here, no matter what the cost entailed.

Finally, Kiku reminded himself of Arthur's warning.

But it didn't matter in the least…Because if he remained, the price would be far more costly than limbs.

Immediately, the boy launched himself from the bench, surrounded by the gorgeous, deceiving garden and ran to those horrid gates, his feet gliding down the stone path as if he was evading a creature the size of the building behind him.

He found himself within the streets, still running as far as his tiny legs could possibly carry his body, those little shoes nearly ready to tear from all the determination livid within his toes.

Kiku ran for what could have been half an hour, finally stopping behind a building and greedily devouring breath. His feet would have carried him further has he not needed so much air…

"Did you see that?" A voice rose from the other side of that constitution; its owner being a woman.

"Yes! I think it was a boy…"

They came away from their hiding placed, their sight immediately capturing that tired child. His heart stopped, head whirling around to see nothing but a confusing maze built of several blockades, all being of stone and brick.

He was trapped.

"Little boy! What are you doing over there?"

Kiku was too afraid to propel the voice from his throat.

"Should we take him inside?"

"Maybe just until we find out who he belongs to…Have you seen him before?"

"No…Do you think he's secretly a girl? I haven't seen a boy around in…well, never."

"Little boy! Are you a little girl?"

"No…" Determining those women wouldn't harm him, and there being no possible escape route, he answered.

"Oh, look! He's so sweet…"

"We have to get him out of the streets."

The two drew closer, their faces also beautiful, yet not nearly as appealing as Yao's. A pang of sadness caused Kiku's chest to ache.

"Why don't you come with us? We'll find out where you belong…"

"No thank-you. I must go."

"Why? Where are you running to?"

"A-way. I must go a-way because…um." He was unable to finish.

"Oh, listen to that, Ming. Where are you from?"

"I am from…" He was unaware of the word in Chinese. "_Nippon._"

"_Nippon?_" They exchanged glances, either pair of eyes filled with brief confusion. "Isn't that Japan?"

"I believe so."

For a moment, either woman simply regarded the boy, no longer shaken by fear's angered grasp or out of breath.

"I must go."

"You know, he probably has no idea where he's running to."

"And he could come across someone who can hurt him…"

"Someone is probably looking for him."

"Yes."

"Hmm."

"Well, little one, why don't you come inside? We'll find where you belong."

"No! Mr. Arthur Kirkland going to hurting me! He said he would hurting me if I ran!"

"But you have to go home! You'll die if you don't have anyone to take care of you…"

"Come on." One of those enchanting women plucked him from the earth as a sweet pear that had fallen from its home.

Kiku began to panic. "No, please do-not! I must go!"

Yet, his words fell to no one.


	10. Chapter 10

Kiku was held within a lovely room full of chatty women, all well occupied; some adjusting the bandages wrapped so delicately around their golden lilies, while other dreamt with opium pipes between their lips and smoke wafting from their nostrils, eyes clouded by epiphany.

Before Kiku was submerged into this realm of feminine mess, he was showed to a woman inhabiting her own chamber. Unfortunately, the two presenting him remembered that name he had so carelessly revealed, and that awful Arthur Kirkland would be notified in quick time.

And so, the child waited within the stinking room, fascinated by the sight of broken feet and those horrid clouds. The very owners seemed to be just as taken with him as well.

"I haven't seen a little boy for months…" One of them raised their voice, staring at the Japanese child as the most fascinating jewel.

"But I'm sure you've seen plenty of cock."

Everyone laughed.

"Not anymore than you have."

"What is…cock?"

The amusement was fed as a greedy monster yearning for blood.

"You have one, kid."

"But what is it?"

"Come here."

With a stomach full of doubt, the boy listened, coming towards that woman. He stood before those shattered toes, waiting patiently, only to have his trousers pulled to his ankles, a scream tearing from his throat and surprise affecting him potently as the plague.

Before he could take the cloth back around his middle the woman suspended his arms above his crown, the entire room becoming hysterical.

"Do you see that thing between your legs?"

"W-what?" Kiku was shaken, his mind rushing in a wild typhoon. "What are you talk about?"

"This!" The woman released his wrists and without even a moment's thought grasped between his thighs, capitulating that little organ and making the owner shriek.

"This is a cock!"

"Please do-not!"

The hand was taken, and the fabric was finally allowed over the child's nudity.

With his face crimson and angry as fire, he retreated to his corner, the entire room bawling in a horrid fit of joy. He felt as if he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry, little one." A giggling woman said who was near the distraught boy. "What's your name?"

"I am Kiku."

"Kiku?" All of them kept happiness within their stomachs as a cage; some of them intoxicated enough to find anything humorous. "How cute."

"Why don't you come over here? I'll brush your hair." Another spoke.

A sort of curiosity drifted about the room.

"You know, I could have had a boy like you…" A pair of fingers took a few strands of those ink hued strands. "But then mama beat it out of me."

"Stop being so damn depressing, and switch out those bandages. Your feet look awful."

"Oh, there's no need to be so cruel." Kiku was stolen into a haphazard embrace, a yelp escaping from his lips in surprise. "You'll get pregnant again and maybe when mama tries to beat it out of you, she'll screw up and you'll get to keep it." The boy's cheek was given a touch by two cherry mounds. "But for now, we'll smother this one in attention."

Many were locked in amusement, captivated by their new toy.

"He's like a timid puppy."

"No, more like a doll."

"No, more like a little Japanese boy with an accent."

Laughter.

"Please do not making fun of me…I try very much."

A giggle from the one holding him a hostage and another grace upon his blushing apple.

Kiku was admired for hours, his hair brushed through, and his cheeks kissed and touched as the sweetest dumplings, as if he himself was a fantastic treat.

Despite all of that glorious attention, he boy was still concerned, knowing he would likely be returned to the hands of an angered savage.

And eventually, he was thieved of the floor, which he had taken his rest upon, by embracive hands. His attention came immediately, but he did not see his new owner. All the women looked sadly as he was carried away, knowing they had lost yet another child. Quick goodbyes were spoken in the form of waves.

As they arrived outside, he was allowed to the gravel, his retriever kneeling before him, those deep ink wells acquainting him with the gorgeous man.

"Kiku, what were you thinking? Do you know what Arthur is going to do to you? He's going to bind your feet and beat you! Why did you run?!" Yao looked hysterical from many causes, those lovely deep jewels growing tears and brows broken beneath that strong concern. "Do you know what that means for you? Kiku, he's going to break your _bones_!" A stray droplet slipped along the elder's visage and fell into the dirt, leaving a dark stain were it had lost its form and spirit. "Why did you run?"

"I can-not being a whore…I must go."

Kiku was regarded a moment, the owner of that gaze wearing dampened eyes.

"But Kiku, now you're going to be a whore with broken feet…If I don't bring you back, Arthur will bind my feet and find you a second time, then bind yours…You must come back with me."

"I am not a whore! I can-not being like you! I am not to going back!"

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you?! You _must_ come back!"

"No!" As Kiku tried to run, Yao caught his wrist with a strict hand, dragging him into the grains beneath their feet.

"Get up!"

"No!"

"_Get up_!"

"No!" He screamed in Japanese, struggling to break from the unkindly hold. "No! I'm not going back with you!" And as his skin nearly tore from Yao's palm, that wrist was given even more force, adhering flesh to its place.

"Kiku, stop it! _Now_!"

"No! Let go of me! I'm not going back! _I'm not_!" All his words spilled from that mother tongue, and as those unfamiliar syllables poured in rage, the boy tried vigorously with his free hand to pry the other's from his arm. "No! I'm not going back! Stop it! Let me go! _Let me go!_"

"_Be quiet!_" The Chinese man struck him hard upon the cheek, knocking him back into the dirt's rough embrace. Yao's hold upon Kiku's limb remained as iron, and immediate silence befell the two, as if the entire world had stopped upon its axis, the only sound inhabiting their ears being the subtle noises of heaving breath. A palm touched to his newly reddened skin, tears converting into sobs as the earth began to revolve once more.

"I-I can-not going back with you…" The boy cried, writhing within that filthy grain. "Please let me go." And all his words were destroyed, broken Chinese and Japanese exposed by utter sorrow and loud cries.

"Kiku..Stop." Yao wiped a few tears from his own cheeks, knowing all too well this exact upset. "Please." Yao helped the boy from his place upon the earth, his eyes still blinded by loss, cries of utter desperation tearing from his throat.

"I-I must go…" Kiku dropped to his knees. "I-I must...I can-not go back. I can-not being a whore."

"Kiku, _stop._"

He couldn't.

"Kiku, _stop!_" Either hand was held and the boy was granted his feet. "Come on. _Walk_." Yao's voice was shaken, wishing with every chamber of his heart that he could save this child; that he wouldn't have to take up those silken robes and fingers embellished by blisters; that he wouldn't have to return him to the arms of that foul British man, who had stolen him from the path he was set upon so naturally. And he wished Kiku could be returned home, somewhere in Japan, so he would be far from this place.

But Arthur Kirkland kept his treasures, even if doing so meant having to break them.

The Japanese doll would be collected again, and the gorgeous man would simply be placed under the heavy hand of punishment.

"_Come on. Walk._"

Yet, the boy continued to break.

Giving away his determination, Yao picked Kiku from that filthy ocean of patted earth and walked, a needy set of fingers grasping at his neck, distress overflowing within his ears.

"I'm sorry…"

When they returned, Kiku was lied upon the floor, his form calmed, yet his vision marred by vehement emotion. Immediately, Mr. Kirkland located them.

"Oh look. You've found him."

Yao regarded him a moment, thousands of things rushing past his mind in only mere moments. "Arthur, please..." He began. "I'm beginning you…Please don't bind his feet."

"Why the hell not? You're aware of the rules."

"Arthur, _please..._" Yao fell upon his knees before that awful man, the entire world's rage burning within his eyes. His hand was held in between the gorgeous one's, his windows, softly affected by the emotions screaming within his stomach, crying into those hardened emeralds. "You can do whatever you like to me, but please…Just don't bind his feet. He won't run again. _I promise you._"

"Get your hands off of me."

A tear melted from his lashes and Yao released the British man's palm, only to bow low to the floor. "Please."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Alright. I won't. But I'm going to beat you to make up for those feet of his."

The one lying upon the floor spoke no words, accepting those ugly bruises that would certainly mar his body, as they had so many times before.

The man was lifted by those satin strands, his body following his head, which was losing editions of lovely hair, and was brought to his knees, immediately enduring a hit to the middle.

"Ah!"

"Yao!"

The gorgeous doll was held by gravity, his ribs accepting the cruel shoe of Mr. Kirkland and rolling a few paces.

"Get up."

When Yao didn't respond, he was knocked again.

"Get up!"

The beauty brought himself to his feet, his body swaying, only to have a fist driven into his visage and a knee brought to his middle, once again sending him rolling to the floor.

Kiku watched as Yao continually fell upon the area beneath him, only to come back again and be thrown another time.

Eventually, Arthur allowed him to lie at his place, his body bloodied and broken, and turned his attention to Kiku.

"You. You're next. Come here."

The boy approached with fresh tears embellishing his visage, suddenly feeling as an ant beneath heavy weight. He gulped, knowing he wouldn't likely leave from this experience with clear skin and a pretty face.

"I-I am sorry, Mr. Arthur Kirkland."

"You should be." Kiku's other cheek was allowed the preface of a bruise, placing his back upon the ground, as his stomach accepted that British man's toe.

His consciousness exited as his head sustained one of many assaults.


	11. Chapter 11

Kiku's eyes gave him an angry child standing above him, his face someone reddened in his blatant upset and his eyelashes lased by tears.

"Have you seen Yao?!" There was no introduction.

The Japanese boy moved his pupils to the other's enraged orbs, his torn lips somewhat parted. "Hong…"

"This is all your fault! Why did you run?!"

"I…" Kiku's brows furrowed under his reasons, which all seemed to be so irreverent now that his plan had broken. "I could not being a whore."

The boy at his side could only stare a moment in utter contempt, choking down sorrow as tears fled onto his cheeks. "You should have had you feet bound! Yao didn't deserve to be beaten…"A sleeve erased the evidence of his rage. "How could you, you idiot?!"

"Hong, I am sorry…" Kiku tried to rise, is entire body howling, the pain pushing him back upon his matt. All his nerves seemed to be awakened by the bruises Mr. Kirkland had installed about his skin. "I am sorry for Yao…"

"You should be! It's your fault!"

Kiku's mouth became barren of words.

"I hope you run again…so next time Arthur really will bind your feet."

And as Hong left, Kiku cried out. "Wait!"

"No! I have to go to school!"

And Kiku tried once again to move from the floor, but only fell into gravity's clutches. "I am sorry! Please wait!" But of course, the other did not return.

The boy was far too sore to even begin crying.

His eyes closed again, and he was filled with the desire to apologize to that beautiful beaten man, as well as brimming with enough discomfort to keep him adhered to floor. Hong was right…All of this was from his doing…

His eyes became lidded and his mind drifted to the world of temporary fantasy.

When he woke up again, he still had his determination to offer words of apology to the other broken doll, and in that determination, he brought himself to his knees through all his body's screaming. A cry came as his hand pressed against the matt, and still, he brought himself from gravity's vigorous hold.

"A-ah!" He stood.

A foot was forced forward, and then another, and another, and another, until he had brought himself within the hallway. Yao's chamber seemed to be an entire journey away, yet something he had sprinted into so many times before.

Kiku continued to walk, despite his body's noisy complaints, and found his path to that much needed destination. His flesh cried, and his bones wailed, but he pulled away the screen and found his culprit sitting upon his bed, his form clothed in only trousers. The man was staring into space, mouth slightly gaping and audible thoughts drifting about the chamber.

"Yao…"

"Hmm? Oh…Kiku. Are you alright?"

"No…" The boy stepped inside and ceased before the torn deity. "No. I am not very al-right, but I am sorry…for every-thing. You should not have…" His brows furrowed. "That should not have happened."

"Thank you, little one. I'm sorry, too…"

"Why?"

"Because…I hit you."

Kiku touched his own cheek, observing the lovely man. "It is al-right."

"Thank you." Yao slipped from his bed and gently lifted the boy from his place, unintentionally sending pain to flicker within his blood.

"Ah…"

"I know…It hurts." Kiku was placed upon the bed. "But you'll get used to it…You'll have to. Mr. Kirkland is rarely in a good mood."

Yao took the place next to Kiku, allowing a deep sigh to exit his lungs. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

They sat in silence a moment, and the younger looked over the elder's body, purple blotches claiming his figure, laughing with their ugly faces full of joy from mere existence. They marred his chest, stomach, back, and face. Everywhere, Mr. Kirkland's rage lived.

"I am sorry." Kiku's little fingers wrapped around two of Yao's, their battered arms matching.

"It's alright. I couldn't allow Arthur to bind your feet…"The man glanced at the child, taking his hand within his palm with a sad smile breaking upon those bruised lips. "Please Kiku, don't run again."

"I not running..."

"Because next time, Arthur really will bind your feet..."

And the boy nodded.

"Thank you, Kiku."

And they both sat together, running into a forest composed of hope within their very minds, either of them happy to have the other.


	12. Chapter 12

After days of healing, learning, and managing Hong's rage, Kiku came to apologize, finding the other boy inside his room with his hands clasped around his head.

"Hong?"

"What? What do you want?"

"What is the mat-ter?"

The angered child removed those determined limbs from his crown, exposing what had been done. His visage was dappled with ugly hues, unattractive stains marring his skin wherever they decided their homes, his hair butchered short. The style almost resembled Mr. Kirkland's, bangs resting upon his eyebrows and stands lapping at the nape of his neck.

"Look at me…Arthur found the money I was keeping…And then he beat me and cut my hair. He told me, 'Liars aren't allowed to have long hair,' and held me down while chopping it all off."

"Does he know that you have my monies also?"

"No. He just thought it was mine…But he took it all anyway." Hong looked away, fresh anger inhabiting his stomach and burning within his throat. "So what do you want?"

"I want to say that again, that I am sorry for Yao…And I am sorry for your hair." The Japanese boy sat next to Hong. "It will coming back…And it does-not look very bad. I like your hair." A few careful fingers brushed through the other's slaughtered locks and fell upon the owner's lap. "I think that it is looking nice with you, but I am still sorry for your hair."

Hong seemed to calm, erasing a few tears with a cautious sleeve. "Thank you."

The Japanese boy took the other into a quick embrace and put all his little heart inside those arms, determined to heal his friend's shattered emotions and perhaps even his broken flesh with all his good intent.

"Kiku…"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I called you an idiot."

"That is al-right."

"And I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"That is al-right also. I am forgiving you."

They disconnected.

"I think you have to go to school today."

"But how? Are you not to going to school?"

"No. Arthur doesn't let anyone go out when he's just beaten them. I don't want to go anyway." Hong adopted a few stray drops of liquid emotion. "Do I look horrible?"

"…Yes. But that will be to improve."

"That's alright. You looked pretty awful too…and you got better." Hong lied back and shut his eyes, releasing an expansive breath. "You should go. Arthur is going to be angry if you're late."

"Oh yes. I seeing you later. Having a nice day."

"…_Have a nice day?_"

"Yes, al-right. Good bye."

The Japanese child ran away, his feet leading him in the direction of Yao's room, who had just finished throwing those lovely garments around himself.

As Kiku opened the screen, the one behind its shield released a yell.

"Goodness!" He regarded the boy. "Oh…It's you. Hello, Kiku. Do you have school today?"

"Hong said that I must going to school."

"Well, he's probably correct."

The gorgeous man stole the child's hand within his own palm, and traveled with him into the hallway, not having to move far before catching his battered brother within his gaze. The door had been left open, allowing anyone to regard that drawing marred by purple ink. Yao's finger blades kissed his lips with soft surprise and a bit of sickness forming within his middle.

"Kiku, what happened to Hong?"

Their steps slowed to a halt.

"Oh…He get into trou-ble with Mr. Arthur Kirkland."

"What did he do?"

Kiku secured his bottom lip with his top row of teeth. "He keep money for us…We do chores and some-time they give money, and Hong keep in-side his…" A moment to think. "Room."

"So Arthur found it…"

The Japanese boy nodded.

"…Can you have Mr. Kirkland take you to school?"

"But he is scary."

"I know…"

Several thoughts of consideration weighed upon his mind. "Al-right. Good bye."

"Good bye, Kiku."

Yao's hand was left to his own custody, and either of them parted ways.

Arthur Kirkland sat outside beneath that balding pink tree, this time with a pipe set within his mouth. It was not an opium pipe, but another kind.

Kiku approached him, that intimidating air crushing him as a parasite.

"Mr. Arthur Kirkland?"

"Huh?" Smoke expelled from his nose and those lazy green eyes lied upon that small child.

"Will you taking me to school?"

"_Will you take me to school?_ And why?"

"Yao is busy."

"With _fucking _what?!" The Englishman stood and took an extensive suck upon his tobacco.

Oh no…If it was opium, he would be calm.

"That lazy whore; can't even take his little Japanese dog out for a walk."

"But I am going to school."

"_Really?!_" Kiku's hand was stolen. "Come on."

"I am sorry, Mr. Arthur Kirkland."

Kiku was not given a reply in turn.

And as they progressed through the streets, Kiku's mind was buzzing with inquiry. He pondered the reason for Mr. Kirkland's perpetual rage, and so many other things about this fascinating demon, his origins and very blood never truly occurring to the boy.

"Mr. Arthur Kirkland, where are you coming from again?"

"England."

"En-gland?"

"Yes. England."

"Why you come here?"

"What's the matter with you? Why do you care?"

"I just wanting to know for why you coming to China."

"The business."

"Busi-ness?"

Neither of them said anymore.

"What kind of talk you talk there?"

"…_What language?_"

The boy nodded.

"English."

"Then how you talk Chinese so good?" The smallest of the pair held Arthur's fingers with a little more conviction.

"You ask a lot of questions."

Kiku did not reply.

The British man sighed. "I learned it."

"Oh…" Seconds were occupied with a certain respect for Arthur that wasn't produced by utter fear. "It is good."

"…Thank you."

"Mr. Arthur Kirkland?"

"Hmm?"

"What does English talk like?"

"Are you asking me to speak English?"

"To…speak? Yes."

"It's like…this. This is English." The blond answered in his mother tongue, one he had not used in what felt like centuries. Those words were easy with his mouth, even somewhat sweet.

"Oh." Kiku's little digits seemed to fidget a bit with Mr. Kirkland's. "It is very good. I like it."

The Englishman laughed, that angry and oppressive air that became him upon a daily basis seemed to lift, if only slightly. "How about some Japanese?"

Kiku nodded. "My name is Kiku. It's nice to meet you."

"That's different…"

"Diff-er-ent?"

"I thought it would be more like Chinese."

"Oh yes. They are diff-er-ent." That unfamiliar word ran throughout his mind. Different. "You are diff-er-ent too, Mr. Arthur Kirkland. Your hair is very yellow."

The taller truly had to keep the curl from his lips. "Yes, well…These things happen when you're British."

His heart nearly shattered when that little doll smiled at him.

No one had ever _dared_ to grin at Mr. Kirkland.

And moments later they came to that building where class was held, and Kiku reclaimed his tiny numerals.

"I'll come pick you up in about an hour…Just wait out here."

"Al-right, Mr. Arthur Kirkland."

Kiku was stopped before he went inside.

"Wait…uh…Have a nice class…or something along those lines."

"…What?"

"Nothing! Just go in."

"Al-right. Have a nice day."

When the boy stepped inside, the Englishman pressed the pads of his fingers to his brow, not feeling so odd in quite a while.


	13. Chapter 13

"Mr. Kirkland?"

"Hmm?" The man was poised upon the floor with a dreamy look written handsomely upon his features, those eyes, usually so heightened by anger were calmed by an easy wave of peace.

"…Did something happen to you?"

Arthur regarded his shimmering pearl with such a placid expression; the other was taken under a stealthy net of surprise.

"Arthur…Have you been smoking opium?"

"Huh? No."

"But you're so calm…and you're lying upon the floor."

"Yao, just shut up for a moment."

"Hmm…There you are."

"Come over here and don't talk so much."

The lovely man followed the instructions offered to him and sat at the blond's side, reclining upon his back as well; his body wrapped an unexpected embrace.

"…Did beating my younger brother put you in such a good mood?"

"What did I say about talking? And no; it didn't."

The Chinese man was kissed by a passionate pair of lips, his waist held in near proximity.

"What did you come here for?"

"Well…I-" Yao was taken with such disbelief at Arthur's sudden pleasant air that he could hardly remember what he had indeed come for, but after a moment he retracted the information his owner had buried. "Oh yes…" A hand rested upon the blond man's collarbone, and a kiss was assigned to the tip of that defiant nose and typically foul mouth. "I'd like Kiku and Hong to begin reading and writing…It's an important skill, and they should be able to do at least that much." The lovely figure offered another tinge of faux affection and kneaded his fingers gently into the other's neck. "Please…"

Arthur seemed to think a moment, those emerald windows full of quiescence calculation, but it was not long before an answer was made. "Alright."

"…Really?"

"Yes."

"Thank you…" Yao gave Arthur a passionate kiss, holding either ear within a kindly palm. "Thank you." And an embrace. "Thank you." Yet another touch.

Arthur gave the lovely man his lips in return, their tongues twisting together without a single moment's warning or contemplation. The Englishman's hands ravished the other's body, slipping away those covers of heavy fabric to show a honey hued chest, white palms smoothing over that flesh as the most perfect of silks. He had allowed his doll what he had wanted, and would claim his desires, the catch becoming without challenge.

"Wait…Tell me why you're in such a good mood."

The opposite moved a little lower, attaching his orifice to that golden neck.

"Ah…"

"You want to know?"

"Yes…I do."

His tongue drew a perfect line of saliva along Yao's skin, leaving his mark by a soft kiss.

"Mmm…"

"That Japanese boy was kind to me."

"Kiku?"

There was not answer but a thumb upon one of those rose buds made to perfection.

"A-ah…"

"Yes, Kiku." Arthur created a small circle around Yao's nipple, coaxing miniscule noises of pleasure from the whore's mouth. "Dear God, you're so sensitive. Maybe that's why I like you so much…A bit of kissing and touching and you melt like butter…" The British man suckled upon that supple skin, allowing his fingers to slip lower along the body possessing it.

"Ah…"

"Or maybe it's that moan of yours…or perhaps because you're beautiful…" Arthur had come fully on top of Yao, and gently connected their mouths, still fondling those hardening blossoms. "Whatever it is, I love you."

"Mmm…" Yao closed his eyes, enjoying this rare tenderness Mr. Kirkland had adopted. He moaned as that mouth closed around the same skin the Brit had just finished pinching.

Elegant fingers buried themselves under sunny strands, bringing the owned in nearer.

"Arthur…I like your hair…"

One of Mr. Kirkland's hands located that previously hidden member, which had been retrieved easily due to the loosening of the owner's robes. Fingers wrapped softly around it, beginning to tug in sweet movements.

And the Englishman slipped down lower, a trail of kisses marking his chest to his lower stomach. Arthur allowed his whore's skin to be marred before he stopped only a little below his last touch. Lips pressed to the head of Yao's cock before it was admitted into the orifice behind those mounds.

"Ah! Arthur!"

Mr. Kirkland hardly did this for the lovely man, much less anyone else.

So Yao humored him.

"I love you…"

And Arthur accepted, even though those words coded his ear the very way a lie would, enflaming his senses with its blatant untruth. He sucked with more vigor, allowing his hand to travel along the other's shaft.

Yao's bottom lip fell, ecstasy possessing him as a virus and shaking him relentlessly. His fingers once again found refuge within that thicket of sunshine, gasps tearing from that gorgeous mouth.

Arthur admitted a little more, his tongue tracing over the other's flesh, causing even more blood to run within that gorgeous body.

Yao resisted the possessive urge to move his hips, knowing he was blessed by fortune to even be given this much.

The Englishman ceased only seconds to kiss the other's head, his tongue playing all the games Yao had participated in so many times previously before replacing that cock within his mouth.

"Ahh…"

Arthur's head bobbed back and forth, sending throngs of satisfaction ringing through the other's nerves, his fingers securing more of those sunny locks as their hostages.

"P-please…"

"What?" The blond stopped a moment, messaging Yao's shaft with easy fingers, as if teasing him.

"Just…a little harder, please…" Yao ended with a moan as he was immersed, The Englishman's tongue put under the heavy weight of conviction as he followed the gorgeous man's request.

"Arthur..."

The blond was becoming mildly uncomfortable, his own erection waging war with the trousers locking it away, and nearly begging for freedom. With a free hand, he unfastened the button keeping him contained and removed the fabric binding that difficult organ.

And for a moment, Arthur pulled his mouth away to simply message the other's cock, those careful blades creating horrid sensation as Yao gasped for breath.

"You like this, don't you?"

"A-ah…Yes."

Mr. Kirkland allowed his tongue to run slowly along Yao's member, once again offering nothing but a filthy tease. As he came to the tip, he engulfed that enamored head with his orifice, sucking as his hand continued to coax the other's flesh.

"Ahhh…"

"You're close, aren't you?"

"Yes…"

Arthur only had to continue a few more moments before Yao released his seed, his breath heaving and eyes hooding themselves with lips parting.

"Oh, Arthur…"

The Englishman took a spot next to his whore, gently laying his arms around him and branding a tinge of feigned love upon his flushed apple. "Will you pick up Kiku for me?"

"Yes…I will…"

"And then we can finish up here."

"Alright…" The lovely man sighed with an inflection of deep satisfaction. "I like you when you're in a good mood."

The blond spoke no words, only waded along the other's side.

"I'll be back soon." Yao kissed his counterpart upon the cheek and pulled his body from the floor's persistent hold, correcting his disheveled silks. Before he went along his way, the gorgeous man regarded his European a final instance, wondering if this wasn't some type of awful convoluted dream.

And Arthur looked back to him, shooing him away almost in a friendly manner.

Yao went, even with a bit of happiness blooming within his stomach.


	14. Chapter 14

"Wri-ting lessons?"

"Yes. You'll be taking them soon…"

Yao seemed beyond happy, his hand molding with Kiku's, pure excitement becoming an adherent.

"But what is wri-ting?"

The gorgeous man stopped a moment, kneeling upon the dirt and inserting his fingers into those little grains, putting together a statement in well composed lines.

"This is writing."

"Oh…" Kiku was drawn into those prefect cuts made into the earth.

Yao rose and they continued to walk.

"And I learn to do that?"

The other nodded and the boy's lips grew into a sunny smile, and soon after realization came into his mind and exited through his mouth, almost as if this day was far too good to be tangible. "Where is Mr. Arthur Kirkland?"

"He's…caught-up. So he asked me to come and get you."

"_Caught-up?_"

"Busy."

"Mmm…" Kiku's fingers fondled the elder's softly. "Yao, why I learn to dance?" The Japanese child knew of his future, and was slowly coming to terms with adopting that white face and a body draped in silks, but he did not know why he was given such lessons.

"Dancing is pretty." The man answered simply, a grin painted demurely upon his face.

"Because dancing is pretty?"

The beauty nodded.

"And the music is pretty too?"

"Yes."

"The wri-ting is pretty?"

"The prettiest."

"Can you do those?"

"Yes, little one. I can."

"Then that means that you are pretty…I want to be pretty al-so."

"You are pretty Kiku."

"I am?"

"Of course you are!"

In that moment, Yao could not help but fill his heart with adoration finding Kiku nothing but endearing. It was no wonder why Arthur was in such a good mood after spending even a moment's time with him.

The lovely man took the boy into the basket his arms had fashioned and held him while progressing forward, a miniscule gasp of surprise slipping from the child's mouth.

Yao loved Kiku…

The boy held onto the other's neck, savoring that closeness as if it was the sweetest of sugar.

When they arrived home, Yao allowed Kiku to the floor, his small form moving away only slightly.

"Kiku, I have something to attend to…Why don't you go keep Hong company?"

"Al-right. I see you later."

"I'll see you later."

The boy moved along that long flight of stairs, taking it upwards onto the second level, and moving up more steps to the third until he found himself inside that hallway. His toes compelled him, guiding him to his companion's room. The screen was nearly torn from the frame and the Japanese boy came inside, the unsuspecting one's attention drawn to the intruder as a fish to water.

Hong sat in the center of his room, a wet brush in hand with an ink stone at his side, as well as a small bowl of water.

"Hello…"

"Hello, Hong!" His breath had nearly been exhausted, yet he still retained all his excitement. Kiku sat across from him after a few paces, a grin etched upon his face. "You know what Yao said to me?"

"No…What did he say? Was it something good?"

A nod. "He said that we are to be having wri-ting lesson."

"Writing? Did Arthur say it was alright?"

"I do not know, but Yao said we having wri-ting lesson, so may-be he say al-right."

The opposite child smiled a moment, adding a few more lines upon his paper.

"That's good…I want to know how to read." An additional scratch. "Do you want to draw?"

"Yes, please! That is very good."

Hong offered the Japanese boy a fresh sheet of rice paper as well as a new brush, one slightly thinner than his own. "We can share ink."

"Thank you."

Kiku began a portrait of Yao, as so many artists had in previous years, perhaps even months. An ocean of thought sat within his mind, screaming livid messages as the brush created those careful strokes, joyous at the promise to write, and blissful to be consider pretty by someone so perfect. His inevitable fate couldn't even put a restraint upon his spirit, flying so comfortably amongst the clouds.

"You're good at drawing."

"Thank you." The _kokeshi_ doll replied.


	15. Chapter 15

Kiku and Hong found themselves with occupied hands, rushing between dance, music and writing. Chores were completed at Mr. Kirkland's discretion and something of new interest always took space within their active minds.

In their free time, they slept.

And in Kiku's dreams, his temporary adventures were full of those awful little characters, their shapes curling around him as angry red whips. Even when he was not submerged in sleep, their lines moved throughout his memory as fish within an occupied pond, each stroke branding its mark upon his thoughts.

你好

再見

我

是

名字

明天

紅

太陽

中國

Slowly, his Chinese became better, as well as his skills of the brush and the movement of his form. His fingers grew blistered, and his bones grew sore. His thoughts felt as if they had become full, and he often times, could not remember sections of his first language, once so familiar and now distant as his land of origin.

The first time he thought coherently in Chinese, he sobbed of loss.

And as time progressed, Kiku became closer to Hong, his only companion trapped at the same age and situation.

The fact that he would become a whore was accepted, and even the very thought of becoming something so gorgeous was relished. He did not wish to sell his body and perform such fetid tasks, but having a wardrobe as elegant as Yao's was something to be desired, despite the cost of those gorgeous silks.

"Kiku…"

And one morning, in the clutches of a hard winter, that lovely man woke him up.

"Hmm?"

The boy's eyes opened and he arose from all the layers of fabric piled upon his body to contain warmth. He wiped the sleep from those windowsills, and regarded that welcomed intruder, a package embellished in paper lying as a damsel within his arms.

"Good morning."

"Good morning. I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

"A surprise! Close your eyes!"

The boy ridded his vision with either palm while Yao kneeled before him, placing the gift upon his lap and pulling his hands from his visage.

"…Heavy paper?" The child inquired with his wrists still in full captivity.

"No!" His fingers were moved onto the surface of the package, and held there a few moments before being released. "Open it."

Kiku damaged the shell, removing the innards and found a silken garment hanging lazily within his hold, colors wonderful and inhabited by red and gold. It was a tunic as well as a pair of trousers to complement it, the flesh of that outfit fantastic to the very touch.

"I know children don't enjoy getting clothes, but I convinced Mr. Kirkland to buy you and Hong some new outfits. You're too big for the other ones, and you've worked so hard…Do you like it?"

The boy nodded. "It's very nice."

"Try it on…I chose it for you."

Kiku removed his sleeping clothes and drew those scarlet garments over his head, placing each leg within the pockets designated to hold them with excessive care. He regarded each of his limbs, the fabric somewhat baggy, but wonderfully comfortable. The clasps just below his neck were fastened by the donor of those fantastic fabrics, and the boy was examined by sweet eyes.

"These look wonderful on you…"

"Thank you. I like them."

"They're loose…so you'll have plenty of room to grow." Yao pulled gently upon the sleeves and bottom of Kiku's tunic, straightening out each little imperfection. "There's another thing as well."

"There is?" Kiku turned to the discarded mess of parchment, pulling away another item from its corpse, a slender but long box accompanied by several pieces of stationary. Those tiny fingers slowly opened the container to reveal a small and large brush, new and untouched by that black stain that marked so many documents. "Thank you!" Kiku secured his little arms around Yao, who was laughing.

"When I said 'surprise' I wanted to give you something you would actually like." Yao released his little _kokeshi_. "You'll have more clothing soon…Why don't we get breakfast?"

"Alright." Kiku offered a demure grin, keeping his paper and utensils in hand as if they had already taken a bind to him.

When their toes came into the dining room, the first thing accomplished was locating Hong and taking assumed places at his side, The Chinese boy immediately staring at his counterpart. He was also adorned with new clothing, his silks retaining the hues of soft sky and grass.

"You got _red? _I want red…"

Kiku glanced at his sleeves. "Is red your favorite color?"

The other nodded, a distraught form inhabiting his lips and those heavy brows sinking beneath his disappointment. "Yao, why didn't you get me red?"

"I did…It hasn't been made yet."

"But I want to wear red now…"

"Stop whining. You should be grateful to have new clothes at all, and silk nonetheless!"

The child trapped in that blue prison looked away, his arms crossed and the edges of his lips sinking. "That's not fair!" He allowed his glance to fall upon Kiku, noticing the brushes and stationary within his grasp, feeling another drop of rage fill his stomach. "He got new brushes and paper too?!"

"Hong…"

"I want brushes!"

"You already have some! I already bought you a set not long ago!"

"But I'm almost out of paper, and those are worn out!"

"No, you're not. And your brushed are fine! Stop complaining!"

"How do you know?"

"I saw you painting just the other day! Be quiet and let me eat!"

"You just like Kiku better than me!"

That lovely palm took no hesitation in reddening his sibling's cheek. "If you keep behaving this way, I will. _Stop whining._ You're lucky to have anything at all! You could be one of those filthy urchins begging in the streets and starving to death! Would you complain then when someone brought you something nice?!" Yao took his bowl of food away, placing it at the further end of his own meal. "You can eat when you've learned to be grateful. Until then, you can go hungry."

Hong rose from the table, little beads of upset forming within the corners of his eyes, feet bringing him upstairs as a sigh was placed within his brother's mouth. The pads of those perfect fingers touched to his brow and Yao closed his eyes.

Guilt took the place of hunger within Kiku's center, attention secured to his elder. Had he been thankful enough?

"Yao…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for everything"

"You're welcome, Kiku." Nourishment found a home between the gorgeous one's lips.

The meal progressed in silence.

And when they walked to their class that morning, Hong looked as if he had been crying, his expression still well upset and his eyes swollen and pink.

They were unaccompanied, having walked to their dance lessons enough to know the location themselves, and either intelligent enough to know not to run.

"Hong…"

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

The other did not compose reply.

"I will share my brushes with you."

Again, silence, but acknowledgement in a saddened glance.

"Are you alright?"

"No. I'm hungry…"

"Lunch is soon."

"…I know."

"You will feel better."

Quiet marred by the bustling city at their borders.

They came to class.

The moment they introduced their presence to that familiar room, gazes were drawn to the pair, although none were destined for Hong.

"Kiku!"

It was rare to find such attention for a single step.

"Yes?"

"I want to speak to you after class."

He still couldn't understand all of what she was speaking, yet his comprehension had grown. "After class?"

"Yes. Take your place."

All eyes attending accepted him as a criminal, his heart shrinking inside his stomach and shriveling in the nervousness immediately accumulating there.

He did not raise his voice, but he worried of punishment. That woman hardly had kind words, and never a kind tone.

Would she hit him?

She had hot others before.

But he had done nothing.

At least, nothing deserving of reprimand.

Nothing he knew of…

So he danced, worried. That old woman flew around the chamber as a hawk above a large expanse of desert, searching for any mistake from its prey. She stopped others in their movements with a smack of her prudent fan.

"No! You're doing that wrong!"

"Not so quickly!"

"Slow down!"

"Do it _correctly_."

"Not that way!"

"You! _Just stop!_"

But she never once pestered that concerned Japanese boy.

Class came to an inevitable end, and Kiku waded shyly to that woman just as he had been asked, her form well adhered to her post.

"…What did you want to tell me?"

"You're the best dancer here."

"Oh." It was something good. "…Is that all?"

"No. If you like, you can perform. There's an upcoming show, and I was allowed to pick a student to fill the role." A rare smile came upon her face.

"Really?" He was taken by surprise, yet it was joyous shock.

"Yes. Rehearsals begin soon, and I'll give you more information later. Until then, be certain to tell Mr. Kirkland."

The child nodded, instantaneous happiness spreading within his blood. "Thank you!" He bowed to the woman and ran to Hong, who looked to have adopted even more visual discomfort.

Kiku did not bother asking why his companion was in such despair. He already knew the reason. Yet, his heart fluttered at the thought he had earned so much in a single day. A new pair of comfortable clothes, paper and brushes, and now an opportunity to shine.

Yao was certain to be proud, and the very thought of impressing that very deity brought him something beyond euphoria.

And as he came home, he stopped, those challenging golden characters screaming at him for the first time in a long while.

Crimson Lily…

What was that last word?

Pav…

Pavilion?

Pavilion.

Crimson Lily Pavilion

A smile dawned upon his lips once again.

"I can read! I can read that!"

Hong simply regarded him, those blackened pearls drowning in depression. "Good for you, Kiku."

The Japanese child said nothing more.


	16. Chapter 16

When one returned joyous, the other returned with arms overflowing with upset, toes driving him towards his room.

Hong debated apologizing to his older brother, but all the envy screamed within his center and devoured the walls as acid; he was sickened by hunger.

And as his body dragged itself from each stair, he came into a quick meeting with the lovely man in question.

For a moment, they stared at one another, emotions radiating from their gazes and coming into the other's possession. The elder upon the platform above; the younger below.

"Are you still upset?"

"Yes."

As Hong tried to maneuver around his sibling, he was stopped by a hold upon the wrist. He ceased to walk, but spoke no words.

"I'm sorry I hit you." Yao began, "But you can't behave that way."

Hong did not make reply.

"It's important to be grateful; If you aren't, everyone will think you're greedy…And greed is a horrible quality to have."

The boy regarded his brother a moment.

"You must be thankful for what you have, because so many others have nothing…And it's possible that one day, you will have nothing as well. Fortune is rare, and what little you can take, you keep, and be glad you have it in the first place. Do you understand?"

"Yes…"

"Good. Now you should apologize."

And after several moments of internal debate, he did. "…I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because I was greedy…"

"Why else?"

"…Because I ruined breakfast…" Hong's brows furrowed as if supporting a heavy weight. Apologizing to his brother was always so difficult. Yao expected him to learn. "And being greedy is wrong…"

"Well…It's alright." The gorgeous man took the boy into his arms and held him upon his chest, climbing back upstairs while carrying that distraught child.

"Yao…"

"Yes?"

"…I'm jealous of Kiku."

"Why?" He ceased walking a moment.

"Because he was picked for a performance and I wasn't."

"Was anyone else chosen?"

"No."

"Well…" The elder continued along his path. "These things happen…But as long as you work hard enough, you'll be able to do whatever you like."

"But…I want to dance with you."

"Who even said I was going to be in this show?"

"You _always_ are. Everyone is crazy about you."

The other laughed. "I suppose so…" The boy was placed before the foot of his door. "You'll be able to dance with me. Just not this particular time."

"So you _are_ in it?"

The man smiled, as if containing a filthy secret. "Yes…I am."

"I knew it."

"Yes, yes. Change out of your uniform and we'll eat lunch."

"Alright."

Yao waited as Hong tucked himself behind that paper veil, a petit smile painted about his lips.


	17. Chapter 17

"You're going to be in a show, huh?"

"Yes Mr. Kirkland."

"Good…I suppose they want you to have a costume too?"

The Englishman took a greedy drag upon his pipe, those grassy eyes challenging the clouds with that awful gaze. They glared right back, their bodies occupying the sky and dying it dull grey, only a few shining places left.

"You'll probably have to wear make-up…"

"Make-up?"

A firm nod and null acknowledgement.

For a moment, Kiku was humored with such an image, picturing himself as something beautiful, his form with long hair and crimson lips, his face the same texture and hue of a flawless pearl… His body was clothed in silk and his neck was adorned with shimmering jewels…

Could he be just as godly as Yao?

His quick fantasy was broken by that Englishman smirking at him, blowing a bit of dirtied air into his nose.

"You'd like that wouldn't you, you little whore?"

A bit of pain jabbed into Kiku's heart and made his stomach writhe.

The boar even felt guilty a fleeting moment, but was incapable of apology and changed the subject. "Was that all you wanted to tell me?"

"No…I can finally read the characters on the building…"

A breath of smoke. "Why are you telling me that?"

"…I don't know."

"Well…" And a second required for thought. "That's good. It's about time you knew where you lived." The Englishman rose from the stony bench. "I'm going to get some lunch. Do whatever you please."

Despite the small pains kept within his core, Kiku followed the pale demon, wanting something to eat as well.

Arthur regarded him a moment with those awful emeralds, observing as the boy moved to his side, Kiku's small hand too nervous to take the one bobbing at the Englishman's side. It was always Arthur who stole palms, never the other way around.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

"Yes?"

"Do a lot of people look at you?"

"_Look at me?_"

The boy gave confirmation in the movement of his head.

"No. Because they know if they look too long, I'll smack them in the mouth."

"But…What is they think that you're pretty?"

A laugh. "No one thinks I'm pretty."

"…I'm sorry…" The child calculated desperately a moment. "You have nice eyes…And your hair is shiny…"

The Brit stared at the boy with certain suspicion, opening the door to the asylum he had created.

"Why the hell are you being nice? Are you trying to get something, or do you just like fucking with people?"

"No…" Kiku's deep wells of ink bled into his feet upon the sullen snow, wondering why he had indeed been kind to someone who was never kind to him.

There was an expansive silence before infant words were born.

"…I just think that your eyes are pretty…I don't want any-thing." The boy told to his slippers. His teeth secured his bottom lip, feeling as though perhaps he had done something to place him at fault.

"…You sure you don't want anything?"

"No. I don't want any-thing…"

Arthur pounded that boy with his gaze, that terrible air surrounding him tightly as his very flesh seeming to lift, if only slightly.

And then a sigh.

"What about my eyebrows?"

"…_Eyebrows?_"

The Englishman pressed a finger into one of those pads sitting above his jewels.

"Oh! They remind me of clouds…"

"Clouds?"

Kiku contemplated the meaning of that word, hoping he had selected the correct sounds. His mind went through several other similar words, none of them quite filling the original place.

Again, another conflicted sigh from the mouth of Arthur Kirkland, and an odd feeling welling within the confines of his center; his senses were affected with something between furious guilt and lovely admiration. It made him sick…

It was as if all the contempt and rage were slowly being wiped away, and the man covered in their filthy embrace was slightly scathed in the very process.

Mr. Kirkland had always coveted a favorite child, and in that moment, the image of Hong was dissolved in an unforgiving fire, and a golden painting of Kiku embellished its place, filling the space with ease and leaving no traces of the former tenant.

"Clouds…Yes, well…"

The Japanese boy put is attention back upon the other, unsure of what he was trying to convey.

"Thank you."

Kiku simply offered a delicate grin.

Either of them went inside and traveled into the dining hall, where the child located his counterparts, leaving the Englishman to adopt a place at his own table, kept in solitude.


	18. Chapter 18

Kiku found himself even busier between his rehearsals, lessons and chores, which he hardly seemed to have time for in the very first place.

Often times, he returned home and slept, too tried to be bothered with work, or whatever obligations that were pressed upon his fingers. Sometimes, Kiku would accidentally miss dinner from his deficiency of energy, meaning to awaken, but his dreams holding him as the hammock of a broken man.

He did not complain. In some odd way, happiness was found in all this. His was learning the arts, as well as reading and writing, all of which he proved talented in his attempts.

And Yao held heavy pride for him, causing the child's heart to bloom as a cherry blossom in spring.

But upon the other side of that glorious wall, Hong felt himself rotting with envy, his stomach often times bitter with that ugly jealousy growing within his core. He almost held the same amount of classes with the Japanese child, and he was still given full arms and a plethora of chores to occupy his schedule, yet he was not allowed rest in the middle of the day. His leisure time was even lesser than his counter part's. He was well aware that he had been replaced.

Mr. Kirkland treated Hong nearly the same, but something cardinal had indeed altered.

The only two who did not deviate were Yao and Kiku himself, but Yao was his dear brother and although the Japanese boy didn't reconfigure, the feelings kept within Hong's belly regarding him certainly did.

Hong did not hate his counterpart, but he certainly wasn't near to him. They were companions, and they held the same life, but in no way had they become precious to their opposite.

And either continued to work.

"Kiku!"

The doll was sitting upon that bench, despite the snow lapping softly upon his toes and the pink looming about his flesh. The tree had shed all its gorgeous hues, becoming truly bald and barren. It seemed dead.

"Hello, Yao…"

The larger fell excited next to the smaller, unblemished joy strewn recklessly upon his face.

"You're happy…" Kiku observed.

"Of course I am! We're going to have our measurements taken for costumes!"

"We are?" A seed of joy was planted within the child's palm, his mood freshened.

Yao offered a nod. "This is always my favorite part. Whenever they're ready we get to try them on with our make-up." An even wider stretch came to the gorgeous man's lips. "So come on! We can't be late!"

Another moment came when Kiku was struck by that feeling so many others had been granted before.

It was the sort of emotion any child held towards something beautiful. He was intoxicated by love born of unfettered admiration, in what little ways he could be.

It was no wonder why legions adored that man so graced by perfection.

Kiku's hand was stolen from his custody and the two crafted their paths to that palace to greet Mr. Kirkland, finding him directly at the building's orifice.

"Oh look. You've found him." A cigarette was poised in between those lips, as there usually was.

"Arthur, if you like, I'll simply take him… If we're going to the same place we usually do, then I know exactly how to get there…"

The Englishman calculated, releasing dirty breath and taking an extensive drag upon his tobacco. "You better not be gone too long, or I'll come and get you and drag you out, regardless of what you're doing. You're not to go anywhere else."

"Of course not." Yao answered allowing a long sigh to exit his lungs.

Arthur nodded, still seeming to contemplate something of great worth, his eyes focused upon the ceiling as if some message of dire importance was scribed there. "Alright." He decided. "Get going."

The entire trip was filled with excitement of either party, but most input radiating from Yao. He was even lovelier when happy; all of that joy making him appear as a flower placed in its prime state of bloom, his very flesh seeming to glow. One could feel warm by simply glancing at this enchanting individual.

And Kiku certainly did. His blood felt as if it was placed before a flame by simply holding his fingers.

They arrived to a building full of men, all of which held ranks amongst the cast. They all waited, talking within their concentrated groups, speaking and laughing as if this was a sort of social affair. Upon walking in, Yao and Kiku were given at least a single glance from each man attending, some generous and donating two or three.

They offered and accepted their hellos, either having a certain element of blatant enthusiasm.

Everyone seemed to enjoy the promise of new silks.

As Yao spoke with all of his acquaintances, Kiku simply observed. They wore expression of hidden intent, some searching over god's body as he held a conversation with another, and some admiring him as they shared their very greetings, no shame living within those eyes, only the image of Yao's lovely face.

At one point, Kiku simply took his counterpart's leg into a warm embrace, his visage resting upon those silken thighs. Out of all those man within the room, Yao had not offered his words to Kiku, who wished to express his feelings just as heavily.

"Hello little one!" He replied, a set of fingers nesting upon the child's crown.

"Hello."

"It's almost our turn, so we'll be able to go home soon. I'm sorry if you're bored."

"I'm not bored…" He was.

"Well, regardless, it's almost our turn. You're going to look so wonderful in your outfit."

"You will too." Kiku rested his forehead more heavily upon the man's limb. "Yao, a lot of people like you."

"Could it simply be that I like a lot of people?"

"Well…You can like a lot of people, but all of those people really like you."

The gorgeous creature laughed. "I know they do…But that's alright."

"It is?"

"Of course it is…There's nothing wrong with having people like you."

The boy created a small humming sound and buried his face within that soft fabric, allowing the elder amusement.

"Kiku…"

"Hmm?"

"I like you."

"Really?"

"Yes, of course I do…"

"Well…I like you too…"

Yao pulled the child from the floor and stole him into an embrace. "Really?"

"Yes. I like you a lot."

"Thank you." The lovely man held Kiku with more conviction, his heart pouring into his appendages.

When the two entered the backroom, they were asked to remove their garments, Yao doing so without so much as shame or hesitation. A measure was placed against that pretty flesh, measuring such distances as the bridge between his wrist and shoulder, from hip to ankle, and around that lovely stomach. The information was recorded upon a simple sheet of rice paper, and the man was allowed to pull his robes around his lovely form.

Kiku was shy before doing the same.

And when they finished with their measurements, the pair was allowed home.

As they approached the stone walk way leading to that institution, they found Mr. Kirkland, who wasted not a single instance marching near to them.

"There you are! Where the hell have you been?!"

"We were getting out measurements taken! Arthur, what's the matter with you?"

"Well, what took you so long?!"

"There were a lot of people waiting! We were last in line." Yao stared at him a long moment, as if trying to convey a message lost deep within those gorgeous wells of shimmering ink. The Englishman looked about ready to combust in his perpetual rage.

"Where were you really?"

"Getting out measurements taken!"

Without a moment of sweet warning, Yao was slapped across the face, not hard enough to knock him upon the merciless stone tiles, but enough to redden that once lovely cheek.

"Stop yelling, you lying bitch!"

A few seconds full of angered stares.

"…I'm sorry Mr. Kirkland."

"You're damn right you are! Tell me where you were! Getting a little extra money on the side? Sucking a bit of cock? Huh?!"

"I was getting my measurements taken with Kiku, Mr. Kirkland. All the cast members were there at the same time, so it took longer than expected." All the fire had been robbed from his tone, and the man was left without conviction or passion.

"Really now? Take your clothes off."

"Arthur…"

The Englishman convinced him with a stare that indicated nothing but the purest of business.

"Kiku, go inside…"

The Japanese boy nodded, running along those steps without so much as looking back.

Yao loosened his robes, yet didn't remove them. Gently, he stole away either palm of the harsh demon before him and pressed one in between his legs, another against his shapely bottom. The whore drew closer to his owner, hands setting upon tense shoulders and mouth falling sensually to his ear.

"Go ahead. Touch. I'm not hard, and no one's been coaxing me the way you are…I haven't been anywhere." Yao allowed his lovely petals only slightly from Mr. Kirkland's, knowing exactly what this man preferred. "Now why don't you calm down? I'll satisfy you…but allow me to sleep first…" A palm settled against that colorless cheek and their mouths met only for a playful embrace. "I'm tired, but I'll be able to please you with more rest…"

Before an answer was offered, a finger slipped harshly into Yao's backside, the gorgeous man crying in sharp pain, perhaps partially in pleasure.

"Ahh...Please don't. That hurts."

"Alright…But I'll come wake you up. Wear something nice." Arthur took custody of his appendages and left Yao to his public humiliation, the broken man adjusting the ruined silks drowning him.

He truly hated Arthur…


	19. Chapter 19

"_Arthur Kirkland_! What in the hell is that awful contraption?!"The gorgeous one cried, those lovely hands falling before his lips.

"Stay still." Arthur murdered the upcoming laughs trying to evade his throat. A flash beamed from the head of the machine, causing the small group to scream in utter horror. The Englishman collected a strange square that the device exhaled, shaking it as if it was coded in fetid water. A hysterical laugh came from his bent lips as he admired his creation.

"Mr. Kirkland, what is that?"

"It's a camera!" He moved attention away from the creator of their terror and showed the byproduct to his whores, the Japanese boy allowing it to inhabit his hands, finger blades filled with a strange feeling he had had yet to experience. The picture featured them recoiling in fear, ridiculous masks possessing their features as if that contraption was an awful monster with the intention of stealing lives.

The collection of dolls seemed to stare.

"That's…Amazing." Yao robbed the token and examined it thoroughly, as if trying to discern a piece of fool's gold from the actual substance. "That's me…Did that thing paint me somehow?"

"No!"

"But how does it work?"

"It takes your photograph."

"A…Pho-to-graph?" Yao looked it over with even more conviction; certain he had missed some cardinal piece of information. "What?"

"That's a photograph."

The lovely man's brows bent under his evident confusion, and as he abandoned his inquires, Hong's fingers were graced with the copy of the attending, who marveled over it with his companion.

"Does a demon live in there?"

"Is it sorcery?"

"No, it's not sorcery! It's _science._" A sigh came from the mouth of Mr. Kirkland. "Don't worry about it…Regardless, it's not going to hurt you. And don't break it either. I'll _literally_ kill you this time."

"Why? Was it expensive?" Hong took his turn to speak.

"Yes. Worth more than your lives added together. And as I said, if you break it, you'll be conversing with your ancestors." The Englishman lifted his contraption with immeasurable caution, nearly caressing the thing by the neck.

"Arthur, why did you buy that?"

"Because it's easier than having you painted a thousand times over. All I have to do is press a button and wait a few moments. Of course, there's film development and all that nonsense, but…it's much more convenient." He began his exit. "I'm going now…You all have fun."

Everyone seemed to regard each other a moment, their gazes somewhat dazed as well as stunned. They placed their attention upon the frozen memory, all of them captivated by their replicas, unable to move their gazes to another subject.

Days past and the curiosity surrounding that device faded, everything seeming to return to its normal configuration. Kiku had produced several ink paintings in attempt to replicate the result that photography machine had, but each stroke proved to be in vain. The mass of his determination was given to Yao, who kept them as the finest of pearls, each contained safely within his core and chamber.

Through each movement of the dirtied brush, Kiku became more obsessed with that device, wanting more than anything to know how it worked.

"Mr. Kirkland…"

So he sought its possessor.

"Yes?" The blond man turned around, witnessing his shining child with toes licking at his very doorstep.

Usually, no one was allowed in this strange little haven, catching reprimands for even allowing their eyes to catch a fragment of that English palace. The only individuals allowed inside were Yao and a few other blessed whores. Anyone who even had a glimpse of the demon's den considered themselves bathed in fortune.

But Kiku was a special case.

"Can I come inside?"

The Brit considered it a long duration, never once letting a child inside his sanctuary in the fear something precious would find its death upon the floor.

"…Alright. But be careful."

Kiku stepped inside, taking in all of those fascinating trinkets, the book shelves full of stories branded by golden English print, a large bed inhabited by feathery pillows, an oaken dresser, a lovely rug littered with conglomerate designs of orange and red, and the man himself piled lazily upon the floor, pages bound in leather supported by those worn hands. Kiku spotted the camera leaned upon the eastern wall, the contraption itself taking up Arthur's intimidation.

The boy sat across from Mr. Kirkland, all the confidence he had collected before bearing the portal seeming to shatter before the very threshold and expire.

"What is it? Do you need something?"

"No… I just want to know how that thing work…"

"Which thing?"

"The picture making thing."

"Oh. That thing." Mr. Kirkland marked his page and set down his novel. "I don't really know how it works, honestly. All you have to know is that you press the button and a picture comes out."

"Oh. Alright." Kiku stood in attempt to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"…Back out…"

"Sit down."

The boy followed that order as if it was a holy order, at the same time believing that he had committed a cardinal sin. Immediately, an apology leaked from his mouth without even a thought going into why he was so willing to be forgiven. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." The man answered, mild disinterest filling those green orbs and marking them dull. "You didn't even do anything. Calm down." Arthur handed the book to his favored child, trusting him not to damage parchment and ready to tear each of those little fingers off in the event he left a permanent mar. "Hold this."

"Alright." Kiku reminded himself never to visit a second time.

The Englishman went to the other side of the room, fetching the terrifying contraption and placing it before the boy upon its sinewy legs, prepared to capture a clone of the scene set before the device's watchful eye.

"Stay still, alright?"

A silent nod.

Again, light screamed from the demon's mouth and within seconds, that filmy paper printed. Arthur shook the photograph and handed it to the model, careful not to mar it with filthy imprints of unruly dust. "Don't let it into the sun."

"Thank you."

Mr. Kirkland adopted the book back into his fingers' embrace and melted upon the floor. "That's essentially how it works. Nothing to it." His current page was allowed into the dim light. "It's amazing people can even male a job of it."

"A job?"

"A photographer."

"Pho-to-gra-pher." Kiku played each syllable within his head as if it had been recorded for the very purpose, trying in desperation to admit the word to memory. "Do you know to write it?"

"God, you're curious."

There was not a reply.

"Even if I did know how to write it, I wouldn't get up again."

"Oh…" The Japanese child glanced at his souvenir, considering it almost a medallion of bravery. He had stepped into the dragon's den and was not reduced to a pile of grey ash. Instead, a mirror that did not reflect was offered to feed his insatiable want of knowledge, and only seemed to offer more desire for information. Again, he had been copied perfectly, all his features written in unfettered lines sketched upon the flat, and his need for intelligence still livid within those deep ink wells of black.

Kiku did not give up his theory of magic.

For a long moment, he tried to piece together how that odd machine functioned, but could not place a finger upon something so willing to evade. All his information had been broken and could not be placed together, as pieces of a shattered vase asking to be corrected with nothing but saliva and determination.

It simply had to be sorcery.

_Science?_ No, no…Mr. Kirkland could not be correct about every matter.

"Do you want to sit there?" Arthur's voice sent his hurricane of contemplation plummeting.

"I don't know…" There were seldom correct answers to the Englishman's questions.

"_You don't know?_"

"…Do you want me to sit here?"

Mr. Kirkland thought a moment, considering his reputation in which he had slaved to uphold. They were all afraid of him, as well as appalled by his very sight; green eyes and sunny locks were becoming something terrible to shy away from…His control was kept healthy by their very horror.

But that man actually had a certain affection for Kiku…

"No. I'd like my privacy."

"Oh…Alright. Thank you for the pho-to-graph, Mr. Kirkland."

No words were offered in return, but a gaze with a tinge of regret muddled inside it as Kiku left him to his literature, likely to speak with Yao. He wished to say good-bye, but held his tongue within an iron clamp.


	20. Chapter 20

That gorgeous man carried two corpses wrapped generously in darkened parchment, the bodies kept secured within that faux skin identical, flesh imitations to the very crease. One was set before the child's lap, laying calmly upon the floor and patient for curious fingers.

The Japanese boy only had to calculate a moment, piecing together what was within that paper sheath in mere moments.

"Can I open it?"

"Of course you can! Go ahead!"

Kiku's suddenly giddy numerals stabbed quick holes into that boring flesh and removed those silken organs, giving the light a shining red garment littered with complex embroidery. It was built in several layers, each of which he did not know how to utilize.

The child glanced to his elder, who had already become enamored with slipping his costume around those shapely limbs as if it was a normal occurrence to receive such an elaborate tangible. His was even more fantastic than the confusing mass Kiku kept within his palms.

"Do you need help, little one?"

"Yes…I don't know how to wear this."

"Alright. Just a moment."

Moments progressed and the gorgeous man came to his _kokeshi's_ aid, those silks secured simply around him, having the appearance of great weight and keeping the most uncomfortable of qualities.

"How are you going to dance in that? It's so big…"

The statue laughed. "This is nothing…" Elegant hands took the garments, draping them over the child's small shoulders just as they were preordained, delicate arms slipping through those rich sleeves. "Don't worry about me…It's not nearly as bad as it looks."

More fabrics toke form around him, along with several more layers of worry.

"Yao, do you think I'll be good?"

"During the show?"

The boy nodded as those robes were secured in their respective places.

"Of course you will…You've been working so hard…" Yao pushed strands kept within those bangs from Kiku's forehead, allowing his lips to touch that now defenseless flesh. "I need to cut your hair…It's getting so long…"

"But long hair is pretty…I want to have hair like yours."

Another sweet touch. "Trust me little one…You'll want to have short hair as long as you can. Enjoy being a boy."

"Am I going to become a girl?"

Another demure edition of joy. "No…You'll simply resemble one." Yao rested his palm upon the doll's peachy cheek. "I'm only allowed to wear trousers when Arthur won't let me outside…" A tinge of sadness contaminated the man's heart and reflected within those heavy jewels, yet dissolved as those spring petals lowered to the child's brow. "But you don't have to worry about that at the moment."

A few more sections were adjusted upon the boy's wears and a miniscule grin blossomed below the elder's cheeks.

"You look wonderful. Go look…"

Kiku went to the mirror, seeing himself in a gown for the first instance in his short life. It was almost as though he had achieved those fantastic garments early, his body lavish from his neck to those feet peeking out from beneath the cloth lapping softly upon the floor. The outfit was heavy, but he was too joyous to even attempt formulating care.

"…Wow."

The beauty appeared behind him within the looking glass, admiring the child as well as his own image. Either of them resembled sunny deities, belonging amongst golden clouds.

"Yao?"

"Yes?"

"Will I use make-up?"

"Of course you will! You wouldn't be allowed on the stage without it…"

"Really?" More excitement shattered the thin veil surrounding his core.

The gorgeous man wore a healthy smile. "Would you like me to paint you face?"

"Are you allowed to?" Even more happy upset sending quivers of unfettered joy to shake his fingers.

"I do my own make-up, don't I?" Kiku's little hand was stolen. "Come along…"

They traveled to the shining form's room, the boy finding a place upon the bed, robes flowing around him in their natural beauty. They were weighty, but it was comfortable upon his skin which was usually so frigid.

Yao retracted several objects from the chest and set them upon the floor. Seeing all of those odd things, Kiku wondered how very long this would require.

The first step was taken, and Kiku's bangs were pinned from his face, giving clear view to that smooth forehead only slightly paler than the rest of his visage.

Nearly half an hour later, Kiku found himself before the gorgeous man, who applied a bit of crimson to his lips with a yielding brush. His eyes were surrounded by that soft and pretty pink, the final touches being carefully applied by Yao's lovely hands.

"You can't touch your face, alright?"

The boy spoke no syllables in fear of destroying the art Yao had so painstakingly bestowed upon his flesh. Yao took the brush from the child's lips and those expensive clips from his hair, allowing one of those jewels to tuck against his blushing ear.

"Go look." Excitement crowed Yao's expression.

Kiku waded to the mirror slowly, as if submerged in a dream, with something as shock coming over him. He had never paid witness to such a face before, and he had to wonder for a moment if that child living within the looking glass was truly his double.

He was beautiful, and his heart marinated in joy.

And Yao watched, a tinge of warmth inhabiting his stomach as well as toxic sadness. Yes, Kiku was beautiful, or at least he would be the moment he shattered adolescence and truly fell into that life strangled by silk and jewels. But now he was a walking doll; a toy very that possessed the sort of loveliness not many were able to call their own. He remembered the first time he became such a canvas, taking that white mask with crimson lips. For hours, Yao had to stare, unconvinced those colors truly belonged to him. His fingers touched cautiously to the mirror, as if he was afraid of shattered that pretty dream and awakening to a completely different life.

But now he would welcome it.

Yes…This child was so full of light and innocence would become tainted like the gorgeous man so caught within his regard.

The whore's heart sunk at all the pain Kiku would endure, and all because of those well formed features upon milky skin.

"Do you think Mr. Kirkland will take a picture for me?"

"Oh…What, little one?"

The boy repeated his inquiry.

"Of course he will…Go fetch him, won't you? I'll put on make-up as well and we'll take a photograph together."

Kiku noticed the undertone of sadness Yao tried with such vigor to bury.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm simply jealous of you. That's all."

"_Jealous?_ But why?"

Yao only wore a smile.

"Please go get Arthur…And tell him to bring his camera."

"Alright."

Yao wiped a single tear from the frame of his eye, although his face, lovely as the painting of a fantastic artist, had not changed.

"Oh my _god_! Look at you!" The Englishman was an offensive mix between astonished and hysterical. "Where have you been? Tucked inside Yao's robes?!" Cruel laughter. "Is that who did this for you?"

The child simply held an expression of internal pain.

"Oh come now. Don't make that sort of face." Mr. Kirkland took a long drag from his cigarette, a filthy grin birthed upon his lips as smoke escaped through his nose. "What do you want from me anyway? A compliment?"

"No…Yao told me to come get you so you would take a picture of us."

"Us?"

"He wants a picture also. He's putting on make-up now."

The blond considered it a long moment, as he usually had with most his decisions. "Alright. I'll be your photographer for a little while."

"Thank you!"

As the belligerent Englishman and doll traveled along the stairs, their paths came to a meeting with Hong's, whose eyes widened at the sight of Kiku in all his glory.

"Kiku?"

The Japanese boy simply offered a nod.

"Who did that for you? And where did you get those clothes?"

"Yao did…and we ordered them."

Again, the boy's heart dropped into those deadly acids and jealousy took its place, but he did not speak, his tongue writhing in shock and utter dismay.

"Come on." Mr. Kirkland pulled Kiku's hand, dragging him along the stairs and leaving Hong behind to drown inside that raging sea of envy contained around him.

They gathered the camera in Arthur's room and switched to Yao's without much communicated between the boy and blond man.

Arthur and Kiku opened that screen to a gorgeous form with hair pulled away from his oval configured frame by several clips, his face taking the hue of a pearl. The last features were being applied, his lips graced by the same deep blush that was placed so wonderfully along the rims of the child's mouth.

"Hello." Yao spoke, regarded his intruders, that long ebony cascade returning to its occupation of lapping softly upon those perfect cheeks. He took the comb from the place before him and went through those heavenly locks, holding them with a red band of cloth.

"You look nice…" Arthur commented, his blood always rushing around his veins at the very image of Yao's milky face and fantastic lips.

"Thank you."

"Are you almost ready to take pictures?"

"Yes." A clip was allowed to float amongst his flowing locks, its image made of precise little jewels that drew the outfit together and seemed to illuminate the deity's features even more so than previously.

Both Kiku and Arthur found themselves captivated, their gazes attached to the figure as a mosquito to flesh blood. They became addicts with their substance held only paces before them.

The Englishman wanted him right there; he didn't even care if the boy witnessed them; he didn't care if he ruined the beautiful man's lips and silks, which he had applied with such careful hands, nor did he care if his a camera, a jewel of its own accord, spontaneously combusted.

"We can go outside, if you like…" The color of Yao's face nearly changed his persona, that sweet voice becoming even sweeter and more sensual, leaving the taste of the richest honey upon Arthur's tongue.

"For what?"

"_For pictures._" And the charmer smiled.

"Oh, pictures. Right, right…Outside. That sounds good."

Yao stood upon those graceful toes and waded to their side, grinning at his befuddled English dolt and touching is elegant finger to his bottom lip, which had fell considerably. A handsome laugh came from those painted spring petals, and the man possessing them moved quietly along.

Arthur Kirkland had a heart attack.

And the small group went along outside, receiving places beneath the arms of that balding tree. It was almost surreal to see the god and the child with white faces beneath the dormant life, their feet kissed softly by light snow. The colors of their faces and clothing stood as a drop of sweet blood upon clean milky cloth.

Arthur took his pictures, with his two models standing obediently and still as lovely statues, demure grins marking their crimson lips.

And as soon as those copies were birthed, Mr. Kirkland ran away as if he had done something forbidden, leaving his possessions within nature's hold to develop those images.

"Where are you going?" Yao called behind him, although he did not move.

"Shut up! Take the camera inside or I'll cut your arms off!"

"Well alright, you thick browed son of a bitch. I'll remember not to drop it for you. Maybe you'll only lop off a few fingers." Yao muttered to his own ears, taking up the camera. "Come along Kiku; you don't want your arms cut off."

"Is Mr. Kirkland going to chop them off?"

"No…but we should go inside anyway. It's cold and we have to get out of these outfits…"

"…We do? But why?"

"Because we can't have them getting dirty. If we do, Mr. Kirkland really will cut off our arms."

"Oh."

The camera and outfits were contained within Yao's room.


	21. Chapter 21

The boy came to his door with tears accumulating upon his cheeks and a lower lip tucked within his mouth.

"Hong…What's wrong?" Immediately, the lovely man adhered to his sibling's side, taking him into those gentle arms without moment's hesitation. "Did someone hurt you?"

"No…"

Yao removed the droplets from the younger's fresh cheeks and allowed such upset before continuing.

"What's the matter?" Yao's shapely fingers drifted through his hair, holding him at an even closer proximity.

"I want to dance with you…"

"Then let's dance."

"No…"

"No?"

"No…" Hong sniffled. "I want one of those pretty outfits too…and I want to paint my face…and I want to dance with you…and I want my hair back. I'm ugly like this."

"You're not ugly." Bits of those raven strands were tucked behind the child's ear, and a kiss rested against his brow. "You're not ugly at all…" Yao allowed his chin upon Hong's crown, closing his eyes and letting all of those emotions fall upon his sleeves.

The boy was beginning to calm, the grip taking his brother beginning to loosen slightly.

"You're one of the cutest children I've ever seen…"

"Thank you, Yao…"

And an idea struck him. Everything he required was contained within his room in a singular collection.

A few more embers of that intense jealousy were eradicated by careful finger blades, and another kiss was set upon the owner's forehead.

"Stop crying, alright? I'll paint your face for you…"

"You will?"

The lovely man offered an affirmative movement of the head. "Yes…But you have to calm down."

"Thank you…" Hong clumsily wiped his eyes and regarded his brother with healing eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too…" Yao held him with all the affection coursing warmly throughout those passionate veins. "Wait here."

The deity stood and removed the smallest of outfits from his miniscule pile of silks. It was fortunate they were nearly the same size…

Yao returned and plucked the tunic adorning Hong's body away, the child taking a look of surprise.

"Isn't that Kiku's outfit?"

"Yes, but as long as it isn't damaged, it's alright. No one has to know."

The new silks were wrapped around the boy's limbs and a few more tears were taken away, those embers the last of their series. Just as it had been with the opposite child's locks, Hong's hair was clipped from his brow; awaiting the white as it was prepared, then spread carefully about his features, the boy trying not to smile the entire duration.

Hong admired himself in the mirror placed before him, that once depressed visage shining brightly as the sun in midday.

"Can I have a picture too?" Hong asked, his smile becoming so wide a bit of red adhered to his teeth.

Yao laughed. "Lick your teeth, Hong…" The camera was acquired from its place near the wall and set before the painted child. "I'll try to figure out this horrible thing."

And after several moments' deliberation, Yao pressed that odd button, causing the light to flash and a photograph to come from the mouth of that seemingly harmless demon.

"Oh look! It worked!" Yao handed the picture to his sibling, another smile lying upon his lips.

The gorgeous man loved to see Hog so joyous. Oppression usually crushed him as an insect beneath a heavy weight.

"Can I have another one?"

"I don't see why not…How about one upon the bed?"

"Alright."

Yao picked up his younger sibling, placing him upon the cool sheets, and removed that weighty piece of equipment again, allowing his finger to compress upon the button, another image coming from its orifice.

They took several more pictures until nothing more was birthed from the camera, the flash continuously screaming from its home, but the mouth of the contraption went barren.

"It's not working anymore…" Yao examined the device and then looked to the younger. "I suppose that's all we can take."

A small whine was released and Hong looked through the small collection of frozen mirrors they had produced. "Well…We have a lot of them. Maybe it needs time to grow more paper."

"Maybe. We'll try again tomorrow…Until then, hand those to me."

"Will you keep them?"

"Of course…You should probably change out of those clothes."

"But I like them…"

"Yes, but they aren't yours…Don't worry. You'll have plenty wonderful outfits."

Hong began to remove his garments, his little hands interrupted by the opening of the screen. They were met with green eyes and a horrid expression teeming in the essence of anger.

"Just what the _fuck_ are you doing?"

"I was just taking a few photos of Ho-"

"_Photos?!_ Just who in the hell said you were allowed to use my camera?! I hear all this fucking commotion, and I find you two having some sort of dress up party! And what is he wearing?!"

There wasn't an answer, either of their voices caught beneath their tongues. Mr. Kirkland came to his device and allowed that blinding light several times, nearly exploding when nothing came into creation.

"Oh, Fucking great! You've wasted all of my film, you stupid chink! Just whose idea was this?! Do you have any idea how expensive it is to have _anything_ mailed to this shit hole of a country?! _And film?!_ I should wring your yellow fucking neck!"

"Shut up, you son of a bitch!" Yao cried, not even considering who exactly he was affecting with insult. "I'll pay for it; just be quiet!"

And Arthur threw the back side of his hand upon the whore's cheek, followed by a series of strong reprimands that had all the intent of getting the man to close his very mouth. Yao was tossed upon the floor and was fixed there a moment, shaking fingers touching gently to that reddened flesh.

"Get the fuck up!"

Yao struggled and sustained a kick to the ribs.

"I said get the fuck up!"

And the Englishman grew parasitic impatience, gripping the writhing man by his cascade of flowing hair, ready to tear it from his crying scalp. The beauty moaned in pain.

"You're beyond lucky that you're going to perform before a whole group of people. I'd love to break your nose right off of your face. _Get up!_"

Yao was drawn from the floor and placed upon his feet, immediately accepting a jolt to the torso that sent him easily back to gravity's sweet embrace.

"You're going to pay for that film, and you!" Mr. Kirkland stared at Hong, anger growing as raging fire within those grassy stones. "Get that white from your face before I knock your cheeks clean!"

"Don't you touch him! I'll murder you, Arthur Kirkland!"

"Shut your goddamn mouth! I'll step on your neck until your blood fills my shoes!" Arthur once again looked to Hong. "Get going you little shit!"

And the boy, with crystals satiating his eyes, ran from Mr. Kirkland, his silks falling from his shoulders and lying upon the floor, skin becoming nearly nude.

"I hate you, Arthur…" Yao had not attempted to rise. "I hate you with my entire soul…" The prostitute sobbed, having no intent in masking his pain. "I hope you hang yourself…I hope you get shot…I hope you fucking die, _you English dog!_ I hope you rot in the worst parts of hell and demons cook and eat you! I hope you die and I hope I have the pleasure of killing you! I hate you…I hate you so much…" And the man became broken and inarticulate.

And even Arthur's heart ceased.

He knew Yao held strong contempt for him, yet it stung as the fatal bite of a venomous snake. He was angered at his remorse, thinking it something he should not feel.

The man could only watch as Yao sobbed, accepting that stomach brimming with the carnage of words.


	22. Chapter 22

The entire backstage was a mess with activity, cast members rushing around wildly with costumes and make-up. Kiku simply watched Yao, his acquired flesh and paint already well applied, his time now utilized to wait.

"Can you hear the people coming in?" Yao allowed a clip within his hair and regarded the child. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Don't worry…" The gorgeous man stood and granted his toes to a quality pair of shoes. "You're going to be fine. Just do exactly what you've done in all of those tedious rehearsals…"

"I will."

The deity smiled upon his little jewel, wanting to bring his lips to that lonesome forehead as he had so many times before, but unable to ruin either of their canvases, so entranced with beautiful color.

"Yes, you will…Do you remember your part?"

An affirmative nod.

"Do you know when you're coming onto the stage?"

"Yes. It's the second time you come out."

A drop of happiness spreading across those perfect lips. "You'll be fine."

And the two drew nearer in proximity to the stage, preparing to come out and perform the roles they had acquired so frequently, so embedded into their memoires those parts became sections of dreams.

When the show began, Yao was the first to go, letting Kiku alone with a demure wave.

The moment he came upon that wondrous platform, the audience filled with polite noise, all eyes gravitating towards that lovely visage. Several of them had been far closer to Yao than one would expect, that shining star having shed his clothing to except their very fingers upon his honey colored flesh.

When he began to sing, all of those hearts shattered, especially those sensitive cores buried within the first rows.

Mr. Kirkland admired his beauty, yet his emotions had disassembled long before he set foot within that theatre. The Englishman had the thickest of skins, but the incident from only a few days before had left a gaping wound upon his very chest with blood pooling upon his feet. He wondered why the gorgeous man even offered him admission…Perhaps he had no one other to offer that wonderful seat to or perhaps he simply wanted a spot beneath Arthur's good side, a land brimming with milk and gold, so long as the god of that very realm did not become enraged.

More cruxes dissolved as the gorgeous man's song reached its climax, and the other cast members flooded the stage, their songs living as soon as Yao's had perished. The applauded man exited, seeking out that pretty child once again.

Kiku was waiting patiently, exactly as he had been when Yao left him to his own contemplative company.

"How was I?"

"You were great, Yao!"

"Thank you, little one…I was so nervous." A palm came upon his chest. "We're going on soon."

Kiku's heart began to pace with excess speed, but he reminded himself that everything would be fine, quelling the rushing of his nervous blood.

He had practiced with such vigor and had only made mistakes a few times before, most of which were set within the beginning of those horrid scenes, which had been branded into his memory by tiring repetition.

Either of them watched the show for several long moments, either of them knowing their time as their very palms.

And they took their places upon that stage, the attending views adhering to the child, their hearts once again residing around their feet…

All accept for one.

Mr. Kirkland's seat had become vacant.

_Yao would pay for that film. _

The Englishman's feet trudged through the snow, his hands clenched into unrelenting fists. He could not watch that idiotic performance even a moment longer; he did not wish to in the very first place.

It was a rare occurrence for Mr. Kirkland to feel such conflict accentuated by his normal rage born of perpetual fire. He felt as if he had been stabbed right trough the chest, his core punctured by an upset spear and his blood overtaking his sullen white fingers.

It had been perhaps four days-he could not remember-and yet that hole torn through his flesh still produced his body's fluid as if the wound had just been inflicted.

The man progressed towards his home.

"Monsieur Kirkland! I see you over there!" Another man with sunny hair was standing outside his own palace, a cigarette between two well poised fingers. He was dressed in a loose silken robe with lovely curling hair pulled into a small collection at the nape of his pale neck by means of a blushing ribbon. The man took a drag; he regarded the Englishman; he mumbled something in French. "Why don't you come over here? Let me slap you around a little?" The blue eyed man utilized words crafted in England, a thick accent dominating those playful syllables.

"Bonnefeuille…" Arthur nearly cursed, allowing his feet to drag him nearer to the other light skinned monster.

"Ah, there you are." The Frenchman flicked a few filthy ashes into the pure snow, examining that broken face with critical eyes. "Mmm? _Qu'est-ce qu'il y a,_ Monsieur Kirkland? You look rather upset."

"…You said you needed another whore, right?"

"_C'est vrai_. I do. Why? Do you have an extra you wouldn't mind sharing with everyone's favorite French bastard?" The opposite European allowed a wink.

"I'll sell him to you."

"All business. I would have figured." A long suck upon that small collection of tobacco. "You see, this is the reason why we're not friends. It hurts, _tu sais?_" A long breath of smoke. "_Veux-tu une cigarette_, a hug? What's the matter with you Monsieur? All your…" The man had to think a moment. "Fire. It's gone. And I know. Are you feeling homesick? We could lament about Europe together, although I do like this place." Another drag. "How about it?"

"No. It's none of those things. I don't want anything but your money."

"Ah! _Mon cœur!_ How cruel!" A quickly extinguished cigarette and more words. "I take back my offer. Let's talk business so you'll leave me alone. How old is he?"

"…About six."

"Six? _Six?! _What kind of whore is _six?!_"

"Be quiet!" Arthur shouted, tempted to smack the Frenchman himself. "He's just began his education. You could finish that out and sell his virginity for a huge sum of money…He's Yao's brother, you know."

"Yao? Ooh...That's the one I was hoping you would offer me. My, he's lovely." The blue eyed man scratched the small tough of hair sitting upon his chin. "His brother? Well, I want a look at him."

"I'll bring him over."

"_Non_. I'll simply go with you to save the trouble. Come on; _allons-y_."

And either man traveled to the Crimson Lily Pavilion.

The audience applauded as they finished their scene. The boy found himself out of breath, yet he was pleased those careful movements were not dismembered.

The crowd was full of enthusiasm and for a fleeting moment, Kiku wore a smile before going backstage, leaving the gorgeous creature upon his platform. And again, he waited for his part to arrive.

The European men arrived at the pavilion, and without a moment' hesitation, Arthur called for his child.

"Hong! Get your ass down here!"

In quick reply, the stairs had filled with the patter of small feet, and in a short minute, Hong had arrived before the risers, his gaze curious to the other foreign man with such light features.

"Bonsoir."

"…W-what?"

"Hong, this is Francis Bonnefeuille."

The small Chinese boy could not wrap his fingers around that evasive French word.

"He's going to take a quick look at you."

The Frenchman kneeled before the boy, careful numerals clearing the hair strewn about his face and examining those lovely black pearls, a pale hand residing upon his cheek. Francis took note of the texture of his skin; how very wonderful it was...

Blue eyes rolled over the child's figure, and even his tiny digits. Satisfaction raided Monsieur Bonnefeuille's stomach and a smile drew itself about his lips.

"He's quite good. Almost exactly like his brother accept for those eyebrows…but that's just fine."

"So you'll take him?"

"Yes. I will." Francis took a moment to search through his robes, finding a small pouch fat with money. "Ah…Here we are."

Hong watched, baffled at those strange words leaking from either mouth. They utilized that strange tongue Mr. Kirkland would scream when provoked.

The unfamiliar man handed his counterpart the pouch, those English fingers opening it and searching through each piece. "This is quite a bit…"

"I'd also like a night with Yao, while I'm here."

Arthur nodded. "Come by tomorrow."

"Merci, Monsieur Kirkland. I won't be late." The Frenchman looked to is new child, who wore a mask built of the finest confusion. "Come along, little one." The Frenchman utilized his Chinese, a small grin stretching his lips across those cheeks and illuminating that untrustworthy visage.

"Mr. Kirkland, why did you give him money?"

"You're going to be staying with him a while…"

"W-what? A while? How long is that?"

"Until I come back for you. Now go with him before I crack your little knees and Monsieur Bonnefeuille can carry you…I'll send your things."

"But what about Yao? And Kiku? Will I get to see them again?" The boy was beginning to panic, certain those syllables sliding from the Englishman's mouth were nothing but fetid untruths.

"Well I don't know. That's no longer up to me. Why don't you ask Francis?"

"Fran-cis?"

"Francis." The Frenchman added.

"Now go. I've got other things I need to do." The pouch was tucked away within Mr. Kirkland's European trousers, and the man holding those awful emerald eyes walked from the new pair.

Hong glanced to his owner, his eyes brimming with fear as well as crystalline upset. The other blond did not speak, only offered a grin composed of sympathy. He held out a hand, yet the boy shunned him as a frightened animal, tears still leaking beneath a veil of little control.

"Don't be afraid. I only look scary. I won't hurt you, or crack your knees."

Despite those words, the boy began his sobs, and Francis allowed tears. Gently, Hong was taken from the floor and moved from the pavilion by means of cautious steps.

"Don't worry." Monsieur Bonnefeuille spoke. "You'll be happier with me."

Another wave of praise broke from the crowd as the final scene ended, tears marring faces at the faux death of the gorgeous man and his lover, several donating a standing ovation.

The deceased felt something like pride, glad to have so many affected by the emotions he had conveyed.

And as the stage and theatre emptied, the cast members met backstage and celebrated; their faces and voices enamored with joy. The performance had played out with little imperfection, and the night seemed to have been flawless from beginning to end.

Kiku wore a dainty grin while holding onto his elder's hand. "When are we going home?" He was filled with something of joy as well, yet still so adjusted to falling upon his dreams nearly hours ago.

"Very soon, little one."

A yawn. "Alright."

And Yao had kept his promise, walking the child home shortly after saying his good-byes.

As soon as they were able, the make-up was taken from either of their faces and Kiku was admitted to rest, Yao burying him beneath those dense quilts and kissing his cheek with the utmost of care.

"You did a fantastic job, Kiku."

"Thank you…You did too, Yao. Sleep well…" The boy was caught within a steady haze of exhaustion.

"Sleep well. Good night."

The elder left Kiku alone and moved to his brother's room, desiring to kiss him good-night as he usually did, but the inside of the chamber was filled with darkness's deceptive veil, and what light was allowed inside that space revealed neat quilts without a body beneath them.

"Hong? Are you here?"

There was not an answer.

"Hong, are you hiding? I'm sorry if you're upset with wither either Kiku or me…But even if you are I still love you."

Again, the room did not stir, only omitted more ominous silence. Yao had determined there was no one there.

So the suddenly concerned man went to Mr. Kirkland's sanctuary, opening the screen without a moment's consideration or warning.

"Jesus Christ! How about a knock?!"

"Where is my brother?"

The Englishman regarded the area before him. He was counting his profits before his intruder intervened, and did not continue until a few seconds had past and he had not given answer. A few more coins were placed within the right pile and a number was written upon a pad of thick paper.

"Where is Hong?!" The gorgeous man demanded again, becoming a potent mix of uneasy and impatient.

"He's no longer here."

"What?! What did you do with him?!"

Again, no noise found a way from the white demon's throat; he only continued to count each mocking trinket, their very images becoming something vial.

_Why was he counting his money now?_

And it all clicked together.

"You sold him didn't you?! You sold him! You sold him without even allowing me to say good-bye! Who bought him?!"

"That's none of your business!"

"_None of my business?!_ He's my _brother!_ _He's my little brother!_ Who the hell did you sell him to?!" Yao came closer, the intent to kill the man who had caused him so much pain living within those eyes. "Tell me!" Yao kicked over the numerous piles of money, knocking each piece a great distance from the sibling they had just kissed. "Tell me!" The angered and desperate beauty threw his foot without second thought into Arthur's nose, saving no time in wrapping those elegant fingers around his neck and trying with great conviction to relieve the Englishman of breath, bashing his head upon the floor with all the power those shapely arms could muster. He was screaming, crying, angry at every past transgression. "Why?! Was it for that goddamn contraption?! Was that it?!" A slam with even more vigor. "Was it?! Tell me who you sold him to! Tell me! _Tell me, you bastard!_"

The Englishman could not breathe, yet Yao did not stop for even a second, wanting only the scent and sight of Mr. Kirkland's blood. He wished to wear it upon his hands and face and entire figure as the most valuable of jewel, one very few people were able to obtain before.

Arthur's vision was beginning to abandon him, his mouth gasping for that sweet necessity that surrounded him completely, yet he could not obtain.

"Tell me…" Yao was beginning to beak, that grip loosening if only slightly and his arms seeming to slow. He looked at that face a moment, his muscles pulling to a halt, and finding those disgusting features the ugliest he had yet. Tears welled within the whore's eyes, and for a deceptive moment, he traced the Englishman's face with two shaken digits. "You're pathetic."

Arthur was gasping for breath, still well prepared to sacrifice consciousness.

And in a moment of faux peace, Yao rose and nearly dragged himself towards that camera sitting so daintily within the corner, taking it savagely by the legs and slamming the head upon the same floor Mr. Kirkland's skull was in acquaintance with.

Yao did not stop, a cry tearing from those enraged lips while shattered pieces spread everywhere, yet most of the machine was still intact.

His attention was drawn to the Englishman, who was trying with all the determination left within his limbs to rise, but could hardly retain even oxygen. "No…Pl-please…stop…" His words were hidden within wheezes of sick desperation. "I'm s-so…rry."

"Get the fuck back down!" Yao wielded the camera as if it was a club, sweat drenching his brow and utter rage turning him into the sort of demon he was not. The head of that broken contraption knocked Mr. Kirkland within the chest, and in the attacker's relentless passion, kept coming down upon him, wanting nothing more but the sight of English blood to affect everything within the room. Yao desired broken bones; he desired limbs cut into tiny pieces and a steep puddle of crimson fluid with an emptied body drifting above it.

And in that potent desire, he continued to bash the broken thing into his owner until the very head of the device lopped off and rolled into the wall, leaving only two cramping hands full of metallic legs.

Finally, Yao had stopped, dropping all of those useless staffs and breathing as Mr. Kirkland was only moments before. Hair adhered to his visage tightly as skin, dampened by sweat omitted in his rage. He took a deep swallow as tears drained from those deep pearls, observing silently the state of his captor, who seemed like nothing more than an insect.

He had affected him in the chest and face, the white button down shirt that covered him drowning in scarlet, and the man's nose broken, the very same liquid seeping from it as a ruined fountain would omit water.

The owner of that battered and broken body was crying in pain, writhing upon the floor in what ways he could without inflicting more damage upon himself.

All of that noise drew spectators, prostitutes stacked at the open door, trying with all their ability to observe the scene and see if that man left to bleed upon the floor was truly Mr. Kirkland.

And Yao regarded them, then allowed his gaze to his victim, a wide smile coming across his tired visage and hysterical laughter filling his throat in unmonitored amounts. He cried out between that fetid joy and angered sobs, eventually converting to simple tears.

All the attending witnesses cleared a path for him the moment he moved towards the door, their lips unmoving and their feet without so much as a comment.

Yao went in the direction of his chamber, his hair disheveled and his body filmy with sweat. His form had become sore, and he was absolutely certain he would pay heavy cost for his act later, but at that very moment, he did not care…All his emotions had drained away in his violence and tears, and he was left with palms full of nothing but blisters and the blood he so desired.

The last thing that fed his ears was a simple phrase.

"…I think we should get a doctor…"


	23. Chapter 23

The entire institution fell silent that morning, no voices breaching the oppressive air drowning the owners, yet their minds were full of the night before. Their souls had been caught in the grasp of amazement and fear, several surprised that Arthur Kirkland still had breath filling those lungs, although his corpse was marred by horrid bruises and sullen bandages. The man within those shattered bones and battered flesh did not resemble the figure they had all come to fear and respect from horror. He was something only a fraction of himself, becoming earthly and pathetic; the only thing that remained was the heat left constantly within those emerald jewels, shining with as much fury as they ever had, yet reverting to something submissive.

Some were grateful for the condition of Mr. Kirkland, that very moment being something they had nearly begged the gods for, and some thinking it a curse. All that revenge would be transferred to their bones, especially to the gorgeous one who had caused this very phenomenon.

Yet, regardless of opinion, no one spoke to Yao.

The Japanese boy awoke to that quiet, oppressed air and seemed to be the only one without knowledge of what had occurred, although something felt terribly wrong.

The dining hall was empty that morning, all accept for the few souls required to be there, and even with their presence, there was barely any noise. Kiku ate his bowl of congee in utter silence, glancing at the few others who also had their voices robbed, right from beneath their tongues.

And when his stomach was filled, he went outside to his most favored place, finding Yao under the cool clutches of that darkened tree, a look abundant with emptiness inhabiting those once active eyes, his lips parted only slightly, almost as if he was in a perpetual state of near dialogue. He was wrapped within wrinkled bed clothes, and did not acknowledge the child, who approached without consideration.

"Yao, what's wrong?"

"…Arthur sold my little brother…I broke the camera while beating him with it."

"You…You _what?_"

"I beat Arthur with his camera…" Yao sounded as if he would easily cry, his voice shaken yet lifeless. "I hope he's not dead…"

The Japanese boy did not speak, only regarded that broken man and securing his bottom lip.

"Can I hold you?" Yao asked, tears marring his cheeks. "I won't hurt you…I would never hurt you." He eradicated a few droplets with quivering finger blades. "Everyone's looking at me as if I'm some kind of monster…But it's not like they never wanted to do the same. Kiku, _he sold my brother_. What was I supposed to do? _Embrace him?_ Arthur wouldn't even tell me who took him…I'm certain I'll never see him again…" The lovely man began to break, his open palm covering his lips and his eyes squeezing shut. "I wasn't even able to say good-bye…"

Kiku came upon the platform with Yao and was immediately stolen into hungry arms, the boy's vision escaping and his flesh melting within that embrace.

"I'm sorry, Yao."

The elder said nothing, only began to weep, his fingers and tears adhering gently to the child's welcoming strands.

As he sobbed, the information Kiku was given slowly began to wash into his blood through tight pores, and he came to the realization that his friend had gone, and he too was likely never to lay his gaze upon that jealous child again.

Kiku was afflicted with Yao's sorrow, as well as his own growing as a weed within his chest, once so filled with roses of resilient happiness. Crystalline emotion filled his eyes and forced his mouth open.

Either of them cried, and it was quite a while before either could even attempt to cease.

And when Francis appeared that night, unaware of all he had missed, a box of opium was tucked within his arms, as well as a lonely pipe, immediately seeking the attention of the shattered man without awaiting the consent of Mr. Kirkland, who was well confined to his room, unable to leave even if he desired it.

Monsieur Bonnefeuille came into Yao's chamber and offered him that horrid black substance, and after thinking a short moment with his face showing nothing of disturbance or content, the prostitute took a lasting sample, all of those feelings harassing his eyes and breast leaving him as a puff of ugly smoke from an open window. In their place came he most decadent of dreams.

It was at that moment that everything within that deity's existence altered.


	24. Chapter 24

"Yao, you need to wake up…You're going to be late."

"Late? What are you talking about?"

Years had taken life and expired, and Kiku grew into something lovely, meeting the macrocosm's expectations. His height nearly rivaled Yao's, and his fingers nearly graced those very robes the other god was allowed to inhabit. The hair clothing his brow had not grown long, that frame circling his well composed visage something beautiful. Flesh remained near the color of pearl, and Kiku was becoming something of a jewel to the Pavilion, as well as the foul Englishman as Yao had been all of those crippling years.

"Yao, you have to stop smoking before you're scheduled to leave."

"Kiku, come here…"

"I _am_ here."

"Well, come closer." The gorgeous man's mind was lost within a deep dream composed of opium and hideous black smoke. He regarded the _kokeshi_ with a lazy set of eyes, a happy smile spread across his cheeks in unfettered peace. "I have to tell you something."

"_Please_, we really cannot play these games…Why can't you do this earlier in the day?"

The intoxicated party lidded his vision and did not allow it an occupation until several moments later.

"Yao!"

"Hmm?"

"Please get up."

"…Alright."The lovely figure finally rose, with the assistance of an exhausted counterpart, hands connected as Kiku supported the broken mannequin, a palm locating his slender shoulder. "Hello, Kiku…"

"Hello, Yao."

An internal sigh ripped through the very foundation of the younger, his nerves worn far thin with this affectionate whore, who he had been assigned to watch as one would monitor a small and stupid child. Every difficulty he had would be well accomplished by any other.

"You're so kind…" Yao leaned forward and connected his lips with the servant's, only to be pushed away only seconds later. The influenced deity's robes were adjusted, having been so disheveled before.

"Come on…Arthur is going to murder both if us if you continue this way…"

"This is all his fault…Ugly bastard."

"I know…But you must become sober."

"I'm almost there…Just hold me up." His voice was submerged in near sleep.

The Japanese youth allowed a long and distraught sigh, performing the obligation that came from that undead mouth.

"Kiku…"

"_What, Yao?_"

"I'm sorry. I love you."

"I know you do."

The elder held the other at a near proximity, nearly unconscious upon his shoulder and trying not to meet with the floor beneath them. "You're s pretty…" And for bare counts, he seemed to drown in a world of dreams.

Kiku stole another lengthily expanse of frustration, growing exhausted of this addiction as he had been the past several years. He often wondered if he even held affection for this former god any longer, although he was in a state of constant worry for his health.

He was beautiful when he was sober.

But those times seemed to arrive less and less.

The grown boy regarded his feet as a white cat lied across his toes, purring with vigor and rolling as if submerged in a great sea of emerald.

"Bái…"

The creature meowed at his new pillow, as if wanting to be held, but neither personage could complete the task.

"Is that my cat?"

"Yes…"

"Hmm...Bái is such a nice animal."

The younger did not respond.

And when the screen opened, the only one attentive to glance upon the intruder was Kiku, finding the Englishman with a worn expression strewn carelessly about his face.

"What the hell is this? A love fest?"

"No, Mr. Kirkland. Yao has been smoking and he's about to fall over."

"_Again?_" The British man drew nearer to his collection of jewels and took the sleeping one from Kiku's shoulder. "Yao! Wake up!"

"Arthur…" The blond was regarded with eyes conveyed in the essence of euphoria.

"You have an arrangement soon. If you don't snap out of this high you're on and sober up, I'll bash the intoxication from and your blood and take your opium an entire week! _Wake up!_"

"Calm down…" The beautiful one allowed his mouth upon Mr. Kirkland's, not even hesitating to utilize his tongue. He drew that white demon in, holding him gently as a lover, yet was pushed away and came close to sleeping upon the same plain his toes inhabited.

"Dear God. Did he do that to you?"

"No, Mr. Kirkland."

"Good." The blond cast a palm against his whore. "Get going, you stinking bitch! You have money to make, so leave!"

"But you haven't told me where to go..."

"Yes I have! You'll be traveling to the teahouse a little ways upward, _where you usually entertain!_"

The prostitute's mouth lied unresponsive.

"Pay attention!" Another hard slap to inspire thought.

"Stop hitting me!" Yao held his burning flesh.

"_Go!_"

"Alright…" The hazy creature moved a few paces before taking gravity's affect, placing a sigh livid of irritation upon the Englishman's tongue.

"Kiku, will you run him over?"

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland." And the Japanese adolescent desired that sweet breath to erase even just a touch of his irritation.

"You best not disappoint me, you idiot whore!" The owner shouted to the broken dancer as Kiku supported him by means of the shoulders.

"Come on…" The _kokeshi's_ life had been exhausted the moment he attempted his given duty.

With an excess of struggle as well as vigor, their feet trudged upon the street's ever marred visage, Yao seeming to become slightly more sober with each difficult tread, yet the opium's hold still drenched his blood and tainted his mind with its potency.

"You have to stop smoking…" Kiku told him, knowing full well there would be little comprehension, if any at all. "You're making everyone's life more difficult, and you're becoming unhealthy…"

"I know…" The answer was lazy, yet very much attending.

They progressed few paces in the silence of thought.

"I'm sorry, Kiku."

The other did not offer reply.

"I'll try to stop…"

Similar promises were made an innumerable amount of times, and with each one, those words were broken only to be repeated weeks in advance. Kiku knew it was a lie, although the bearer did not intend for it to be.

Again, there seemed to be a deficiency of cardinal words.

When Yao arrived to that destination, so earned by the footsteps of the junior, he tried not to stumble and left Kiku to return to his dungeon home, determined to speak with the man who kept the heavy mace.

Arthur sat beneath the aging tree, his body filling one side of the bench and his eyes full of thought and sunset. His bottom lip slightly dropped in deep contemplation, and occasionally, his finger nails tore skin from those gaping rims.

"Mr. Kirkland…"

"Hmm? What is it, Kiku?"

The grown boy was still his favorite youth, and through all of those hellish years, that affection seemed to feed from all that internal suffering and developed into a tall and healthy bloom, shimmering within a grey sky. His cruelties were still very much there, and words crafted of the finest of steel came bounding from his tongue as they always had, but Kiku was occasionally saved from their blade, more often than the others living at the mercy of the man enraged so perpetually.

"May I sit with you?"

"Yes. You may."

Kiku lowered himself upon the bench and intertwined his numerals, falling into the same state of deep contemplation Arthur had been submerged in only moments before. Words were pieced together within his mind before finding a place within his throat.

"Mr. Kirkland…When am I going to entertain?"

"Why? _Would you like to?_"

"Well…Yes."

"You just don't want to take care of Yao anymore, do you?"

"I'm becoming…tired. I would be satisfied with any other task."

"I know." Mr. Kirkland's emerald gaze afflicted the grass, those jewels becoming something gentle and rare; his brow seemed to bend with sudden consideration. "You'll begin soon…They've taught you about all they can with your lessons, haven't they?"

"I believe so…"

"Alright…" A clamp placed upon an unsuspecting blossom.

Either of them regarded the setting sun's painting, its dying life giving birth to the most gorgeous of fiery hues. That once proud sphere sunk below the mountains, and slowly, the moon claimed her kingdom of happy night, the air becoming cool and the sky filling with a slighter source of illumination.

"I've got a surprise for you…" Arthur informed his doll.

"You do?"

"Yes…I've decided to purchase you a bed…Well, I suppose it's not really a surprise anymore…Would you like that?"

"Yes…" Kiku's eyes widened with the instant shock that seemed to wreak havoc upon his nerves. "Thank you...I would love that." He had always held an odd sort of affection towards Yao's misplaced bed, abandoning skeptical thoughts and allowing his opinion to be in that contraption's favor.

And for a moment, the unsuspecting gem wondered why Mr. Kirkland had decided to allow him any sort of gift, but would not dare raise complaint or plant even the slightest of inquiries.

But the reason why Arthur bought a bed for anyone was that of selfish purpose. He would want nothing but to rest inside it.

Kiku was becoming particularly beautiful, and the first to take notice was the Englishman. Anyone fortunate enough to possess the gift of sight could see the growing child's blossoming loveliness as a dominant flower in spring.

Mr. Kirkland could hardly divert his eyes whenever they were near in proximity to one another, yet Kiku never caught those eyes upon his very flesh, or the love of that wonderful form when it was dressed in the finest of silks. Arthur loved that honey flavored voice and beautifully composed words pronounced with such undying caution; he loved his treasure's perfectly molded lips, not too plump or too lacking, but just the right size and color. Ample for kissing. And Mr. Kirkland desired just that, those pleasures of the skin. He wanted Kiku beneath silken covers within a dim room, or simply the place where they sat at that very moment. He wanted to claim that figure for his own and offer all sorts of wonderful feelings, almost as delicacies placed upon a silver platter, and he yearned to steal that pleasure away from that silken flesh, retaining that peachy color of childhood. Arthur simply desired him; all of him.

Yet, a definite barrier was set between those desires and all his obligations. He could not have him…at least, for the time being. The moment that terrible man sold his very blood, simply begging to be spilled upon clean cloth, that wondrous body would find a place beneath his own, and each and every one of those fetid desires could be met.

"Mr. Kirkland, what is that look for?"

"Hmm? What look?"

"It's nothing. It just seemed as though you were in deep thought…Is there something bothering you?"

"No…I suppose I was simply thinking. Excuse me." The Englishman rose to his feet. "I'll be going inside now."

"Have a nice evening, Mr. Kirkland."

The other did not reply.

And Kiku was left to the prison of his own active mind, his body suddenly occupied by the weighty grip of exhaustion. His bones felt as if they would shatter as sensitive glass.

Tending to a grown man who could barely monitor himself made his skin have the feeling of multiple bruises inflicted by a strong fist, and all his energy had broken or fled.

The Japanese youth drifted in to bathe.


	25. Chapter 25

Kiku's bed was constructed within a few days, and the owner of that wonderful contraption stood watching as his donor lied upon its surface, his eyes shut. Mr. Kirkland appeared to be sleeping, but his mind was always rushing wildly with thought. It was not an uncommon sight to see his eyes lidded while ideas flew through his thoughts as a hyper flock of birds.

"…Mr. Kirkland?"

The blond did not stir.

"Mr. Kirkland?"

Yet, there was nothing.

Kiku sat upon the edge of his new collection of sheets, regarding his English visitor in his temporary peace, a few fingers afflicting his visage with a light touch and tracing his unmoving frame. His skin was not nearly as rough as the Japanese adolescent had suspected it to be; it was actually quite smooth. Those cautious blades wondered to that neck, so gently experiencing the flesh of that sleeping demon.

Kiku did not hesitate unbuttoning the first few clasps of that British man's shirt, fabric peeling from his chest slowly to reveal a scarred collarbone, ugly with white marks decorating that once smooth area. His fingers traced over those near blemishes, his eyes always wanting that very area ever since Yao had ruined it. There was a knot where his bone had healed, and with easy numerals, Kiku graced that eyesore as well.

Yet, there was something beautiful about that torn canvas, that destruction so affective years ago leaving its horrid kiss upon that pale skin.

"You deserved it…" Kiku whispered for the satisfaction of his own ears, ghosting his finger towards the man's neck.

Something lovely shone within that awful man, with those emerald eyes and hair composed of radiant sunshine. His skin was nearly as pale as his admirer's, and the fact that he was utterly broken instilled a new sort of attraction upon those European features.

The subject was very much awake; having lain down only a moment to rest his seemingly tired eyes. He did not feel like answering his treasure's inquiries and found himself in pleasant surprise. A bit of stone was gathering between his clothed thighs, and it was lucky that the cause had not taken notice of the symptoms.

Kiku came a little closer to his English beast, his lips only seconds from the man beneath him.

That fantastic scent drifted into the faux sleeper's senses, possessing him as a sort of potent drug and giving him desire to open those lying eyes and press him mouth against the one who was examining him, mold their tongues together and smooth over his property's skin, tear him from the inside out and claim him only as his own. Yet, he was committed to an untruth, and a heavy price was placed upon innocence.

And Kiku breathed in the scent of Arthur Kirkland, his clothes, his flesh laced with the essence of tobacco and money…It was the smell of a surplus of undying power.

Softly, he connected their mouths, not at all surprised when he was kissed in return and held lazily by those strong arms.

Yet, he was shocked when his bottom lip was suckled upon lightly, and even more so when pleasure overtook his quick flowing blood. His tongue was offered to his owner, his hated god, who held that organ between his lips and savored it as quality sugar.

It was his first kiss allowed by romance, bringing him memory of an accidental kiss Mr. Kirkland had bestowed upon him years previously. He had said something or other that drew a miniscule smile upon the blonde's visage, and his cheek was affected by a gentle touch that was nothing but nonsensical impulse. Nothing like this…

Arthur opened his mouth, allowing their tongues to slide past one another and curl together as rich ribbon caught within a braid, bringing pleasure from the _kokeshi's_ throat.

Kiku was held at an even closer proximity, their kiss growing with far more passion. The Japanese youth's blood began to boil with certain conviction, his member kissing softly to the robes Mr. Kirkland had wrapped around those shapely limbs.

They came apart softly and stared at one another an extensive moment, Kiku's face illuminating with blush and Arthur's eyes over occupied by lust. When the event in its entirety registered, the younger felt his stomach curl into a foul knot.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland…I-I lost my mind for a moment…" His nervous fingers secured those buttons at their original standings. "Thank you for the bed…It's very nice."

The Englishman caught Kiku's hands within his own, holding them as precious trinkets and rising from his place upon the sheets, allowing his gaze to meld with those wonderful ink colored wells.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland. It won't happen again. I'm unsure what came over me. I was-"

His worried syllables were executed by the soft touch of Arthur's mouth to his own, their tinge far less possessive than the last.

When they separated, their eyes only communicated a moment before interruption struck with an unforgiving hammer.

"Kiku! Will you come help me with something?"

Without words, the grown doll stood and rushed from one universe to another.


	26. Chapter 26

"Yao! Wake up!"

"I am awake…" The gorgeous man lied upon his stomach, sober and with a crying stomach gone barren, far too exhausted to solve either condition.

"Are you intoxicated?"

"No…Just depressed."

"Well get up. You have an arrangement scheduled in an hour."

"_An arrangement? It's morning!_"

"It's the time he wanted to see meet you. Lord knows why. But he offered me quite a bit of money, so I suggest you put on some descent clothing…and bathe." Arthur came to the chest sitting so daintily upon the floor and removed a smaller addition from it.

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm taking your opium. You can't be trusted with your own schedule, so you can smoke on mine. You're costing me customers." The blond looked at his angered jewel, a grin livid upon his smug face. "You'll get it back after your appointment. I know how you addicts work. And I suggest you put yourself in a better mood. No one likes an upset whore, and they certainly don't pay for them." With that, Mr. Kirkland left Yao to his own distress.

The beauty allowed his naked back to adhere to his sheets and regarded that formerly hopeful window, once so full of sunny light. Now a dull grey inhabited its place and rejected Yao's need for comfort as a request for a large sum of money or an outlandish favor.

Perhaps after this poorly scheduled appointment, he would simply hang himself beneath that lovely tree…It seemed like a fantastic day for suicide, the sky such a dour tone and the sun hiding behind a steady blanket of clouds.

The gorgeous man took a long breath, sparing his vision from the hell bustling around him. It felt as if he was lost within the eye of a hurricane, taking only a step and absorbed into that horrid fury.

"Kiku! Will you come help me?"

There was not an answer from the near servant, yet the phantoms of hurried feet could be detected throughout the hall, and the exhausted youth appeared within the porthole.

"What did you need, Yao?" The grown kokeshi wore an expression of distressed thought, the event from days past traveling in a wild circle within his mind, always breaking upon that fatal scene where Kiku's lips afflicted Mr. Kirkland's, only to begin work only moments later. He did not know how to untangle this complex web of uncertain feeling coiling within his stomach, yet his hands kept prying into it as a falcon's claw to the rat's back. All his conflict painted a great image upon that once lustrous visage, and he was left with eyes full of longing as well as deep confusion.

"Kiku, I need you to help me get ready…" Yao's feet touched to the ground beneath him and his gaze considered his slave's spent features. "What's wrong?" Even in his current state of discomfort and need, he could see that something was troubling his companion.

"It's nothing."

"No, it's something." The whore came closer to the virgin and offered him a small curl of the lips bent of compassion and empathy. "Please tell me. You know I'll keep your secrets."

"Yao, what did you need help with?" Kiku held a tone of impatience.

"Oh…I just needed help with getting dressed…" And immediately, the fallen deity was subjected to pain. "While I bathe, will you select an outfit for me?"

"Yes…"

"Thank you."

"…Are you intoxicated?" The younger asked, just before setting to his obligations.

"No, I'm not…" And the prostitute moved from the chamber.

Yao surrounded himself by the figure of that European tub, another odd misfit within that universe of anomalies. As more of those white skinned foreigners arrived, more of their odd inventions found a way into the streets and homes, as well as the Pavilion, that porcelain vat that offered warm water and kind intent being one of them.

The gorgeous man's head slept upon the rim of the tub with his arms easily breeching the barriers. His attention graced the window sitting paces from him, the same dull light filling the room and illuminated the water's peaceful flesh.

A rough tongue affected Yao's fingers and he managed to glance over that porcelain wall to find his dear animal lapping at his skin.

"Bái…I think I might kill myself today…"

The cat only brushed an ear against his owner's hand in anticipation for a pat of affection.

"Even Kiku doesn't like me anymore…Can you even believe that?" Blades brushed past that blushing white triangle. "Although, it's not all that surprising, is it? I wish I could be less of a burden."

Bái released a whine and began an obnoxious purr while scratching at Yao's numerals with an aggressive tongue.

"Do you like me?"

There was not a response.

"No…I know you do." Yao claimed his palm back and placed it inside that watery prison. "I suppose I should prepare for this appointment…What sort of idiot wants a whore in the late morning? If this goes badly, you'll find me hanging beneath that tree…"

And Bái screamed, wanting acknowledgment through touch, yet not receiving it.

"No…Go bother Kiku. He likes you."

Paws could be heard trying to shatter the thick composition of the porcelain bucket, and Yao could not help but allow his lips their faux liberation, that curl so drown in the oppression floating in abundance around the Pavilion. One could have it all for the easy sacrifice of soul and body.

Minutes later, Yao wrapped himself within a large cloth and walked shamelessly back to his chamber, finding Kiku poised upon his disheveled sheets, his eyes reflecting all the notions his mouth would not convey.

"Kiku, please tell me why you're troubled…" Yao stole the silks that had been selected for him and allowed his back to that grown doll. The cloth so occupied around his waist dropped to his ankles and the robes took their respectful positions. "I know I'm a pain, but I still worry about you…I can be more than an addict…" Yao turned to regard the other's troubled jewels, securing the silks more firmly to his figure.

_Not to me. _

"Yao…"

"No. I know what you're going through…Please."

"You won't be happy with me."

"_Why?_ Have you started smoking?"

"No…"

"Then I have no reason to be upset." Yao drifted to his chest and claimed a brush from its assessable organs, beginning to ease the discontent from his silken tresses.

"Arthur and I…uh…" Brows dented.

"_Did he take your virginity?_"

"_No._ No…We kissed…" The words felt horrid against his teeth. "And I let him use his tongue…" The youth looked as if tears were ready to crack against his visage. "But I really liked it…and I feel like a whore."

Yao drew nearer and stole the younger into a warm embrace, something he was desperate for as well, holding him upon that wonderful chest. "Kiku…I'm sorry…" Lips held to his crown. "That man is awful…"

"But that's not it…" The _kokeshi _spoke with a few droplets lining his eyes. "_I_ kissed _him._ He was lying in my bed, pretending to sleep…and I came over and unbuttoned his shirt…I wanted to see his scars. As I drew closer to him and just-" A sob escaped. "I don't know what came over me."

"Oh, Kiku…It's alright." Although Yao was well aware that it was not. "These things happen sometimes…But now you must be careful around Mr. Kirkland…Trust me, having him like you is not a good thing…And it doesn't help that you're lovely."

"But I'm not."

"You are, Kiku…You're beautiful, which is the exact reason why you must be cautious."

"Thank you, Yao…"

Those elegant fingers drifted through Kiku's luscious strands, holding him at near proximity. "Of course, if you like we can talk about this later, but at the moment, I have to get ready…Thank you for telling me."

Yao pulled from that jewel's grasp and left a brand upon his brow.

"Thank you…" The gorgeous man reiterated.

"You're welcome…"

Numerals pulled the last drops of evidence from the younger's cheeks, and the owner of those captivating appendages continued his metamorphosis.


	27. Chapter 27

When Yao laid his eyes upon the man who had called for him so early in the day, his heart nearly ceased beating. Standing before him was likely the tallest man he had observed in all his fine years of business, as well as the most beautiful.

This oddity's skin was nearly as pale as clean winter snow, and his hair a dull blond, far different than Mr. Kirkland's sunny locks, yet something utterly similar. The jewels sitting beneath his shapely brows were pigmented with such azure; they could be considered violet, shimmering with clarity as well as unadulterated honesty. A European nose took form above fresh lips with a smile sketched upon them, his entire visage all together pleasant.

The Chinese man found himself stricken with something so foreign, he could not place a title upon it. That feeling inhabited his very core and erased each separate ache as the purest of spring water.

It was something as unfettered admiration…

And he had not experienced something so strong.

The tall man allowed a smile before speaking. "Hello…Are you alright?"

"…Excuse me?"

"Are you alright? Is there something wrong with me?"

"No…No. I'm sorry. I suppose I'm just surprised to see you."

"Oh…Am I early?"

"No. I uh…I'm just making a fool of myself." The whore melted at that man's handsome voice outlined by a slight accent.

The light skinned god held a grin upon his lips, amused at his new companion's state, who was still well affected by the sight occupying his eyes.

"Are you certain you're alright?"

"Yes. I'm so sorry…I'm not sure what's the matter with me…What's your name?"

"Ivan Braginski." The listener nearly fainted at the wondrous pronunciation of that title. "And you're Yao, correct?"

"Oh, yes…"

"That's great! I was beginning to think it was too good to be true. You're far lovelier in person. "

"In person?"

Ivan nodded, retrieving something from his pocket and allowing the article to his blushing counterpart's cautious grip.

A folded piece of large parchment inhabited Yao's fingers, worn by years of service to that lovely pair of eyes. It was opened by a careful hand, showing the man possessing it remade completely in ink. It was a performance done from weeks previous, featuring the gorgeous man in the arms of another nameless hero. The information was displayed in bright and neat strokes, announcing the date and title of the faux reality.

"I was here months ago and was fortunate enough to watch you on stage…I've wanted to meet you ever since then…"

And Yao's heart shattered upon his very palms.

This had happened what could have been a thousand times before. A kindly European man would order time with Yao, assuming he was a woman due to his usual mask of the female lead. Whenever the deceiving man admitted reality, he was never to see those pale fans again.

"That's so kind of you…But…You know that I'm a man, don't you?"

Immediately, laughter came into Ivan's mouth. "Of course I do! You're very beautiful, but I don't think I'm quite that foolish."

And relief surrounded him as bath water composed of wine.

"Why? Do most Russians think that you're a woman?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think I've met all too many yet, but I know at least one, and he seems very kind."

"And who would that be? Should I be jealous?" The larger wore a wide smile, knowing exactly who that lovely man was referring to.

"No. You don't need to be concerned at all. There's certainly no competition."

"Ah, that's a relief. I was beginning to worry."

Either exchanged healthy grins.

"Well Ivan, would you like to come inside?" As much as Yao liked this attractive man, he knew what everyone paid for and exactly what their sensed desired.

"No thank you."

"…What?"

"I was actually hoping that we could go on a walk together…if you like, although I wasn't expecting the weather to look like this…"

"I would love a walk…If it starts to rain, we can always come back…"

The paler nodded and offered the doll, so entranced by his presence, an elbow.

Yao was unsure of what action to perform, but took his counterpart's side, cheeks radiating as wonderful fruit in spring.

A smile graced the taller man's face, an arm wrapping softly around the beauty's nearest limb and causing his visage to darken even more considerably.

"Do you mind walking this way?" Ivan's cheeks were just as red, but for reasons of amusement.

"Oh, no…I'm sorry. I've never really done this before…but I don't mind."

The lovely man's thoughts screamed at their barer, so full of angry threat that he had to swallow.

"Please tell me if you feel uncomfortable."

Yao did not answer; only labeled himself a fool.

They walked a few paced before either raised words, their thoughts gravitated towards the other.

"So, you're Russian, aren't you?"

"Very much so."

"Is it painful?" There was stifled grin.

And Ivan responded with the same sort of reaction. "It's excruciating."

"I'm sorry…If it's any conciliation; it's excruciating to be Chinese as well."

"Really?"

"Yes! It's _awful_!" They walked a few paces. "Just awful…" Those darkened pearls drifted to Ivan's features, more admiration spilling into Yao's stomach and nearly boiling over. "How did you learn Chinese so well?"

"I studied…and studied…and studied until I wanted to scream, but didn't…so I kept studying."

"How long did it take you?"

"About…Three years."

"_That's all?_ No wonder why you wanted to scream…My little brother learned Chinese as well…when he was very small. Before then I didn't realize how difficult it must have been."

"I didn't know you had a little brother."

"His name is Kiku."

"Ah…He's Japanese isn't he?"

"Yes! How did you know?"

"I know a few words, here and there."

"Does 'Kiku' have a meaning? I've been curious a long time."

The Russian offered a nod. "Chrysanthemum."

"That's beautiful…" Yao's grip upon the larger man's arm seemed to become tighter. "…Do you know any other languages?"

"Well, Russian obviously…and a little bit of English as well as Japanese, but hardly any at all."

"All of those?" The Chinese man felt stunned. "You must be very intelligent."

"Oh, no…simply stubborn."

"Hmm…So you're a modest genius. What a shame. I find the most attractive quality to be confidence."

"In that case, I'm the smartest man alive."

Yao allowed himself another hint of audible joy. "Perhaps not that much, but you've got the idea."

_You don't even need confidence. _

The gorgeous man kicked his innards with worried thoughts and suspicion of his own stupidity.

"_Ivan_…That's how you pronounce it, isn't it?"

"Yes. That's right."

"Well Ivan, may I ask a favor?"

"Certainly."

"Will you speak Russian for me? I'd really like to know what it sounds like…"

When the pale man smiled, Yao's heart nearly knocked against his chest, his nerves screaming beneath a thin blanket of flesh and more blood sent to into his reddening cheeks.

_Was this the affect he had on others?_

_Goodness…It was no wonder why they kept coming back…_

"Of course. I'm charmed you're asking me to." The large man cleared his throat and replaced those Chinese syllables with the ones he was most familiar with, those pretty sounds pouring as smooth liquor from a fantastic bottle.

Seconds later, Ivan ceased and regarded his beauty with a small grin, just as nervous as the shorter.

"Oh my goodness." Ivan's language caught him directly by the heart, and in that moment, Yao's core was secured gently within the Russian's palms. "What did you say?"

"Nothing important."

"Well…It was lovely."

Ivan was bathed in relief. "I'm happy you think so."

There weren't any available words within Yao's throat, so his gaze was deflected and cast upon moving feet. "Did you like Chinese the first time you heard it?"

"Yes…I think it's my favorite language…The first time I came here, years and years ago, I couldn't speak it at all…but everything about China fascinated me; I simply had to learn it."

"And Russia…It's different, isn't it?"

The large man gave confirmation in the form of a nod. "Yes…But please don't ask me to chose, because I simply couldn't."

Yao's lips stretched into a shimmering curl, and gently, Yao touched his fingers to his new captor's arm. "Do you have to go back anytime soon?"

"Oh, no…I suppose I'll leave when I become too homesick to stay, but at the moment, I'm enjoying my time here."

"So…Will I see you again?"

"I hope so…and I'm certain you will."

"That's wonderful." The mild withdrawal affecting Yao could not even shake him. His nerves were filled with a sort of feeling that had yet to take him in such a way before, far more potent than even that awful poison. "…Because I like you very much already."

A genuine expanse of the lips affected that light skinned deity, and in that instance, the sky gave a drop of its emotion, that malleable crystal landing upon the Chinese man's nose.

"Oh…Perhaps we should go back. It's no fun to be caught in the rain."

"Alright."

_Just as long as you return. _

When they arrived upon the stone steps of the pavilion, mildly washed in precipitation, Yao offered his Russian a slight grin, expecting that lovely man to undress him as almost all his admirers had.

"Would you like to come inside?"

"I'm afraid I can't…I have another appointment to attend to."

The gorgeous creature found himself baffled a second time, a basket filled with inquiries occupying his arms heavily. "W-what?" he looked at that man as if he had suddenly sprouted another head from that attractive neck and collected another four arms. "But you've paid so much money for time with me…and all we did was walk…"

"I know." A large, strong hand gently adopted Yao's palm into a gentle grasp and brought pretty knuckles to his lips, allowing a sweet caress to affect them. "But that's just what I wanted." Another touch.

"But…" The whore's cheeks were completely flushed with embarrassed shades.

An even gentler tinge befell those little hills upon the man's elegant limb. "Don't worry, Yao. We'll meet again, but at the moment, you'll have to excuse me. Thank you for coming out with me. I had a very nice time."

"You're welcome…"

Ivan granted the admirer's hand back into his own custody. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye…"

Yao touched his cheek with shy fingers as that tall man was absorbed by a light storm.


	28. Chapter 28

The two sat together, pink leaves featured as an umbrella and words bouncing behind their lips, yet neither spoke for quite a duration.

"Kiku?"

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland?"

"I think I'll allow you to begin working. You're ready…and old enough."

The young beauty had something uneasy written upon his face in neat brushstrokes, yet there was nothing more difficult to read. His eyes afflicted the grass with a glance full of worry, nearly taking the life that coursed through it with such vigor. "…Are you going to have sex with me?"

Arthur did not answer, although he had every intention to undress that lovely boy and claim that flesh for his own. As soon as his virgin had been taken, likely by some admiring stranger, he would be lost beneath an ocean of upset sheets and the Englishman's body.

Despite his deficiency of voice, the white demon's lips secured gently to Kiku's cheeks and lingered an uncomfortable moment, that very touch setting a calm surface in flames.

Kiku moaned softly in protest, that voice only giving the impression that he enjoyed it.

The Englishman came closer to his ear and placed a palm upon his neck as a lover. "Kiku, there won't be one man you _don't_ have sex with. I'm the very least of your worries." A pair of fresh mounds pressed to the youth's ear.

And the frightened child pulled away, his hands fighting Arthur's shoulders and his eyes widened with the discontent wailing within his stomach.

"Mr. Kirkland…please don't. I-I don't think…" His brows held heavy stress. "I'm not even sure what this is…" A deep swallow affected his throat and his eyes came into contact with Mr. Kirkland's fiery emeralds. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Arthur looked into those tiny fingers, stretching so frequently and so starved for sun.

Kiku wanted to know what horrid thoughts that Englishman held for him, besides that mess of fetid attraction. Did he love him as much as he seemed to, or was that also a faux truth?

And what were Kiku's feelings in that mass ball of wires? Did he hate him or love him or feel nothing for those sunny locks and fierce eyes?

He had kissed him.

"Mr. Kirkland, may I go inside?"

"No…"

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No…You're just a virgin."

And what was so far worse was that he enjoyed it. He took pleasure in allowing their tongues to slide past one another and their lips to touch with such passion.

It was so very wrong for him to take euphoria from such a haphazard event, and one that he had brought upon his own accord, and came to regret only minutes from its birth.

"…Mr. Kirkland, may I please go inside?"

"Yes."

Kiku rose with the grace that had been instilled within his very blood, and drifted silently away, depression dawning upon him as the plague upon its unfortunate victims.

That child, who felt suddenly as a toddler, did not want to live that life drenched in pretty silk. He did not want to tend to that spoiled Yao any longer, and he did not want to sell his virginity, much less loose that innocence at all. He did not want to become the Englishman's slave, nor remove his clothes for those filthy eyes.

All he wanted was normality.

But he knew he would never attain such pleasantries.

And Kiku came to his room, falling upon the floor with his back leaning against the supportive wall, his face buried into the supple palms that had cursed him. This beauty was nothing but an invitation for suffering to possess him, leaving a door open through his parted legs.

How easy it would be if he was hideous, with nearly purple skin and a large nose, thin lips and disfigured eyes. If he could acquire such a mask, perhaps he would be allowed a true family within his shining homeland kept beneath the protection of that crimson sun…

…Perhaps he could have that faraway language alive between his lips. Every last syllable had been sacrificed for that awful Englishman, and the only true Japanese part of him was the label the others had branded him with.

With a body absorbed by Chinese silks, and a throat choking upon Chinese words, and trapped within that fantastic prison named China, how could any single drop of him be Japanese?

His blood was of no importance.

And for a moment, he envied his companions, all of which held to their backgrounds as fish within water. They did not have virginities to lose, but virginities to sell.

And Yao called.

"Kiku!"

At first he did not answer.

"Kiku, are you up here?" His voice was inhabited by concern, and he had found his crying youth's door.

"Kiku…What's wrong?"

The gorgeous man took a place next to his servant, and utilized no hesitance in drawing him into an embrace. A kiss landed upon the same patch the Englishman had touched with his own sullen lips, and careful fingers popped those forming emotions bubbling within the lost identity's eyes.

"What happened?"

Kiku calmed himself a moment before allowing comply. "It's Mr. Kirkland."

Immediately, potent worry struck within the lovely man's blood. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing…He just told me that I would be working soon…" More tears lined those pretty cheeks. "I was essentially told that we would have sex…"

The elder held his jewel at an even closer proximity, having truly nothing of pertinence to say. "…I know."

Kiku regarded Yao's darkened orbs and swallowed a collection of sorrow.

Despite all his vices and misery, that pretty whore was still a droplet of unfettered gold.

"Yao…" The youth wiped erased his liquid emotion.

"Yes?"

"What does it feel like? The first time?"

"It hurts…" A hand rested upon the other's faint cheek. "But it's better after that…"

The other did not have coherent thoughts enough to reply.

"Don't worry…That should be the last of your concerns…Find someone who loves you enough to take you away from this hell hole…Because at this point it's the only way to escape…And you're beautiful. It shouldn't be so hard for you…"

"But what about you?"

As much as Kiku hated to play minion to that broken doll, without him, he would likely fall into a deep well of a worsened state, and the Japanese youth had never wanted to lose someone who held so much of his life and secrets through decadent memory…

"Worry about yourself…Besides, I might have found my ticket away from here…"

"…Who?"

Yao could not contain his lips, allowing his sibling to his own arms and sitting upon his heels. "Perhaps I shouldn't be so hopeful…We've only been out together once…Yet, he was so kind to me. And he didn't treat me like a prostitute. For once, I was taken out and spoken to like a good friend…and when we returned, he kissed my hand and said he hoped we would meet again."

"He kissed your hand?"

"Yes. Like this." Yao gently stole Kiku's palm just as his had been confiscated days before and pressed that sweet mouth to his knuckles. "He's so sweet…"

"…But what was his name?"

"Ivan Braginski."

"What sort of name is that?" The other's depression lightened considerably for a laugh. "I want to hear him say it…There's no way you're pronouncing that correctly."

Yao allowed audible joy. "I know I'm not…But I don't speak ay Russian, so you can't blame me…How about you say it?"

"I-vaahn…" Kiku's lips curled.

"You see?" A playful reprimand to the younger's chest. "Brraag-eeen." Yao laughed before he could complete that ridiculous phrase. "Eenskeee…"

"Bu-What was is it?"

"Brrraahg-eeensss…keee."

"Buu…raaahg…"

"Eens."

"Eennss…kee?"

Either omitted their joys and Yao stole those last drops of sorrow marring that treasure's visage.

"You really like him, don't you?" The younger asked, the laughter loosing life within his center.

Yao wiped his eyes. "For only seeing him once, yes…I hope he returns so you can meet him…Because I know you would like him too…He can speak Japanese. He told me what your name meant."

Another tinge of poisonous drop sorrow found sanctuary within his core. "What does it mean?"

"Chrysanthemum."

"…What can he know? He's no more Japanese than I am Russian."

"Kiku…"

And slight regret murdered that dangerous ember. "I'm sorry…I'm simply upset that I'm supposedly 'Japanese', and I can barely remember how to say hello…"

"Arthur Kirkland has stolen something from all of us…But there's nothing that can be done." The gorgeous man rose. "Don't think about it too often…Because you'll just become depressed. I would focus on getting out of this place." The man offered a smile. "Maybe you'll even be able to learn Japanese again…You're smart, Kiku…You just need a way out."

"Thank you, Yao."

A nod. "If you'll excuse me…I'm going to play with Bái."

"Alright."

And Kiku was left to his own supervision, something as determination forming within his palms and gave his heart a new foundation for pumping so strongly.


	29. Chapter 29

"Now remember, you must be polite, but playful…If someone touches your bottom, just slap their hand gently away and offer a smile."

Quick fingers adjusted the silks wrapped around the newest entertainer, and the owner of those fast workers wore a heavy grin.

"Oh, Kiku…You're so lovely."

"This is it…Isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so…But don't worry. You can home at around nine. I'll return with you. There's another appointment anyway."

Yao touched his younger brother's cheeks with slight rouge and admired him even more heavily. "Are you ready?"

"No."

"Well…You look ready."

"Are they going to be drunk?"

"No…It's far too early for that…Well, they might be, but not to any harmful extent…Oh, and don't drink too much either…Only have small sips…You don't want to be drunk and our customers don't want you to be drunk…" Only a few more adjustments sat about those fantastic garments. "Are you ready?"

"Do I still look ready?"

"Yes."

"Then I suppose I am."

"Alright…Let's go."

Their lovely party moved downstairs with graceful steps and found Arthur Kirkland awaiting them near the door's orifice. His eyes filled with younger, and as if he was the finest of wine, drank him without even a hair composed of control.

"You two look spectacular."

"Of course we do." Yao kissed Arthur upon the cheek. "And we're going. Kiku will be back sometime around nine, and you know I'll likely be home at sunrise."

"Right. Make those payments worthwhile."

"I always do." Yao winked at his captor and took his apprentice by the arm. "Good night, Arthur."

"Good night."

Those green jewels devoured Kiku a final time before he entered that realm of sweet evening, and Yao pretended he did not notice that gaze so surrounded by intention.

They walked along the streets, that city seeming to transform into something completely different in only mere minutes. Loud voices drifted into the cool air and lights scarred the once perfect sky. That very earth was contaminated with bodies all moving one direction or another, in search of something; whether it be flesh or smoke, it could likely be found within that microcosm of oddities.

Kiku's heart began to beat for what truly felt like the first time in so many years.

He did not enjoy it.

Yes…Upon this very night, he would become a whore.

Was there any possibility of turning back?

"Are you nervous?"

"Of course…"

"Don't be…It's really not so difficult."

"I know."

Finally, their presence landed upon a gorgeous door step to a lavish teahouse.

The building was something large and nearly intimidating, as a giant breathing monster full of unsuspecting victims and all sorts of beverage. There was bustling, although they had not stepped inside, the atmosphere was loud enough to drift to the porthole and fill either ear with its shamelessness, cries coming from flirtatious parties and drinks clanking upon tables.

Before anymore thought could take place, Yao opened the door and their feet progressed inside that lively creature and eyes searched for their clients.

Kiku's senses were marinated in surprise at the actual calmness beneath that deceptive shell, although there were loud voices and laughter, it was not the sort that was the result of a large drunken party. Everyone had taken their seats and everyone had enjoyed their time. Kiku was half expecting intoxicated nudity.

"Ah! That's them…"

Yap brought his counterpart's form to a group of men, which greeted them with friendly smiled and enthusiastic hellos.

"Who is this?" One asked, and immediately, Kiku had to stare.

The man who had given such inquiry had the same sort of hair growing from the Englishman's scalp, bright gold that seemed to radiate in any light, yet this man held lovely sapphires for eyes, shimmering with something as unseen clarity.

_Were these normally the sort of men who ordered prostitutes? _

"This is my brother, Kiku."

"It's nice to meet you." The younger took a small bow, and either received their seats.

The apprentice did not look at that odd foreigner, thinking it rude to hook his eyes to his flesh so mercilessly. But the other certainly absorbed him.

The Japanese adolescent allowed his gaze to lightly touch everyone, and was given a tap upon the shoulder by Yao, who offered him that kindly smile that offered so much comfort in years past, yet he still found his stomach convulsing and his skin to have frozen.

The youth asked softly, "What are your names?" When in truth he only wanted the title of that blue-eyed man.

The other two who were within his company made reply first, and then the one who had drawn his attention.

"My name is Alfred Jones."

"It's very nice to meet you all."

Kiku was certain he could not pronounce that lovely title, yet tried with extensive vigor to commit it to memory.

Yao spoke a moment with that man Alfred's counterparts, their eyes full of the same faux adoration the younger had seen so many times before, gazes communicating all the messages their mouths could not from painful protocol.

"Kiku…" The other did not play that ridiculous game.

"Yes?"

"Where are you from?"

"What do you mean?"

"The country you're from."

"Oh…Supposedly Japan, but I've been here so long I might as well be Chinese. Where are you from, Mr. Jones?"

"America."

"All the way from America?"

The man offered a simple nod.

"Well…What brings you to China?"

"Exploring." He answered with a sort of smile.

"So, you've learned Chinese just to explore?" Kiku wore a grin of similar background; certain he was missing some part to that fantastically short story. "For whatever strange reason, I don't believe you."

"No, I'm telling the truth; _really_." The blond once again wore those curling lips. "I was bored in America…So I learned Chinese and took a boat all the way here to sit before you."

"I see."

"So, what brings you to China? I know you said that you've been here a while, but you had to come for something."

"To be honest, I can hardly remember…One moment I was coming off my ship in the rain, and the next, I was being pulled along by some stranger…And not I'm here. Sitting before you."

Alfred offered an expression construed of sympathy. "That's unfortunate, but I'm happy to be talking to you, if it's any conciliation."

"It's alright…It happened so long ago that I've forgotten how to be angry…But I'm glad to be speaking with you as well."

It seemed far easier than he thought it would be, leaving all that time spent worrying null.

"Do you like China so far? I'm certain it's quite exciting to see a place so different."

"Yes, I do. And yes, it is. It's exactly what I had come for…And I really love the food."

Kiku smiled. "Perhaps I should learn to cook."

The American laughed, and either foreigner regarded their counterpart with a new sort of affection. Yao found himself amused as well.

"Mr. Jones, you certainly have some naughty friends. You wouldn't believe the things they've been telling me."

"I'm certain I would."

Yao released his joy. "No, you're right. You would."

And they traveled back to their conversations.

"Mr. Jones, how did your eyes become so blue? You can see correctly, can't you?"

"Oh, goodness no." Another wide grin. "I usually have glasses, but I was recently told I was more attractive without them, so I took them off."

"Do you have them with you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then please wear them…I think your sight is far more important than your appearance."

"Well, what do you think of my appearance?"

"I'm not certain, Mr. Jones. Why don't you allow me to see you with your spectacles, and then I can make a well educated decision."

"Alright…" The man removed an article from his pocket and placed either frame before an eye, two perfectly shining windows illuminated those already bright jewels and causing them to shine even more vibrantly. They had become something unobtainable, as a great gem hidden behind a heavy glass veil.

"Hmm…" Kiku pretended to think a moment, his mind well made up before that odd item even came to the blond man's visage. "Yes. I prefer you this way."

"And I prefer you this way as well…I can finally make out your face…I think I've lost all my confidence."

The youth's visage seemed to brighten with blood. "There's no reason to feel that way…I haven't changed any, I assure you."

"Alright…I'll believe you."

The American was caught by that Japanese beauty, held by crimson lips and milky flesh. He knew this personage held certain attraction before his sight was granted to him, but had not suspected his company to hold such a painted image. He was as a large pearl, worth inside those very eyes, what could be millions.

He was captivated, those precious azure stones locked only to one view.

And in his new paralysis of the core, he adopted a sunny smile, his mouth becoming barren of its words and his mind flooded with them.

"Oh, look Alfred! You put on your glasses." Yao's attention was drawn directly to the frozen man. "You look mature that way."

One of the other laughed. "Like a scholar." He smelled of intoxication in the form of alcohol, and his statements spilled in fragrant English, gibberish to the ears of either entertainer.

"Oh be quiet. You're drunk, aren't you?"

The other American nodded, face pink with laughter.

"Take it easy…No one wants to deal with you if you get sick."

"Alright, alright. I'll be fine. Go back to speaking with your little friend."

Alfred allowed an expanse of breath and gave his words back to Kiku once again. "I'm sorry about that."

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing…Don't worry about it."

"Wonderful." Yao was next to speak. "Would anyone take pleasure in buying me a drink?"

"I certainly would!" The drunken man cried, all his words in the first tongue he was given.

"Yao…" Kiku said softly, unsure of what action to carry.

"Excuse me…" The elder raised his voice. "I'm afraid if this behavior can't be calmed, I'll take my little brother home…It's his first time out and I won't allow him to be subjected to this just yet."

"But we paid for him!"

"Yes. But you can be compensated."

"Yao, I'll take him back. You don't need to give any compensation. I paid for him anyway."The American stood from his seat and awaited an answer.

"Mr. Jones..."

"No, you're right. He shouldn't have to deal with such nonsense. Excuse us."

Kiku came upon his feet as well, following behind the man who gave him such instant relief.

The two forms moved quietly outside, cold night air wrapping around them and bringing a sort of peace that had not been there within that wild building.

"I'm sorry, Kiku."

"No, thank you…I'm actually quite relieved."

"You are?"

"Yes…I am."

"Why would that be?"

"Because I was so nervous… Not because of your drunken friend, but because I didn't really want to out in the first place."

"I'm sorry…Are you upset with me?"

"No, not at all. I had to begin working sometime. I've just never wanted to."

"If it means anything, I think you did well…But I can't blame you…Don't worry." They began the movement of their feet. "It looks as though you still won't have to, at least for now."

"Yes. Thank you." They walked a few paced. "…Mr. Jones?"

"Yes?"

"…Did you pay for my virginity?"

"No. I just paid to waste your time." That smile seemed to be contagious.

"Ah…I apologize for my inexperience…You've wasted your money."

"Not at all…Actually, I didn't want to be surrounded by those idiots anyway. Perhaps if you like me enough you'll allow me to pester you into a conversation at your door step."

"I'm certain that won't be a problem."

The American allowed his attractive mouth a curl. "I'm not certain why you were so nervous. You seem to be fairly good at this whole 'flirting' nonsense."

"Thank you…It still feels like I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Well…For not having any idea of what you're doing, you're doing quite well."

Kiku's face allowed shy colors, and a small tinge of happiness affected his expression. "You don't have to be so kind."

"But I want to be. So I will."

"Well, thank you…"

And they found their path back to that Pavilion, the blond waiting upon the doorstep with the new entertainer.

"You wanted to talk, didn't you?"

"Yes. I still do…"

"Good. Because I want to talk as well…Instead of standing, why don't we sit?"

"Inside?"

"No…Follow me."

Kiku led his odd client into the garden and sat him upon the bench held beneath that lovely tree, stealing a place at his right.

"How is this?"

"This is nice…I'd like to see it during the day…"

"It's beautiful." Kiku regarded his counterpart within that darkness, the moon giving dim light to his pale frame. "The trees are always so pink in spring. I think that's my favorite time of year."

"I think it's my favorite season as well…It's comfortable between scorching and freezing, unlike the rest of the year, and everything is so bright…"

The youth gave comply with a solid nod. "I loved running errands in the spring because it was so pleasant outside. But I don't have to do so anymore…Regardless; I still plan on taking walks."

A few moments of comfortable silence came.

"What is spring in America like?"

"It's pretty as well…but I came from a larger city…So, it seems lovelier here, although America has beautiful parts…I just didn't get to see them."

"I'm sure you'll find it more beautiful if you ever return…After a while, it's truly difficult not be homesick."

"I'm not sure if that will be the case with me…But perhaps I will go back, at some point…"

And again, a rendition from the silence lurking around them.

"So…Do you have any hobbies?" The American switched the subject in the need to fill that gaping void. He enjoyed having words within his mouth.

"I'm sure I do, but I don't know what they are." Kiku offered something a dejected pull and continued to speak. "Does sleeping count as a hobby?"

"It most certainly does."

"Then I suppose it would be sleeping. And I've become quite good at it."

"Well…I don't know about that…I don't think that you could beat me at sleeping."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because I'm a sleeping champion."

"Then prove it."

"_Prove it?_"

"Yes! Prove it!"

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Go to sleep right now."

"Will you sleep with me?"

Kiku laughed, not missing the other meaning hidden behind playful phrase. "If I do that, how will I know if you're sleeping or not?"

"You wouldn't know anyway, would you? I could just close my eyes and make snoring noises."

"Oh! So you _are_ going to cheat. Then I don't want to play."

"If that's the case, do I win?"

"No! No…It's a tie."

"I bet I could win."

"No one can defeat me in dreams, Mr. Jones."

The two spoke beneath that universe until nearly midnight, at which point Alfred had to leave the _kokeshi_ to his own attention and exhaustion; his heart morphing to something sore and greedy for more of those American opinions. But he understood, and he did not raise complaint; he only wished for another meeting.


	30. Chapter 30

"…How was it?"

The beauty's eyes struggled against the weight of delusion and his lips parted slightly. That revered form was caught within a vat of steaming water, and his blood was held within the aggressive hands of intoxication.

"Yao, I don't want to talk to you when you're like this. You always forget what I tell you and I end up repeating myself."

A cloth was dipped within the miniscule ocean and touched to the whore's flesh with light intention.

"I can't believe I have to bathe you."

"I know…"

"Then stop. I'm not your mother."

The gorgeous creature allowed a laugh at the boy's comment.

"It's not funny, Yao. You're making me unhappy."

And almost instantly, he calmed. "I'm sorry, Kiku."

"I don't care."

There was not a response within the other's mouth, yet a humming emerged into the air and filled Kiku's annoyed ears softly. It was as if there was an internal conversation happening within that mind so influenced by addiction.

"Move so I can wash your back…"

"Alright…" As if he had sold his entire soul, Yao turned away from his pale companion and allowed his empty canvas to the artist, the soggy brush touching to it as a tip of ink to rice paper.

"You know, that Russian of yours is coming to visit in a few hours…You should try to become sober…"

"He is? Why doesn't anyone tell me these things sooner?" The whore's eyes closed and lazily, he leaned further forward. "What am I going to do?"

"Stop smoking."

"Kiku, it's hard..."

"Life is hard."

The other had become too far gone to respond. "Kiku…"

"_What?_ What is it, Yao?"

"Can I hold you?"

"No. You're wet and naked."

"Oh…"

It was occasionally that Kiku wished Yao would remember this upset born within the embers of anger, but every time these free words were offered, they were lost within a veil heavy with dreams and would likely never be recalled again.

"You're such an idiot." Kiku had been quiet, but Yao had still understood those syllables; a bit of ache was placed within his chest.

"Kiku…"

The Japanese youth sighed, scrubbing with enough vigor to tear skin, almost as if he could wash away this self inflicted illness if the man lost enough blood.

"Oww…Please-" Yao could not finish.

Kiku had seared a pink mark amongst the many purple stains dappling the gorgeous man's skin. In a moment of curiosity and ill consideration, Kiku touched his blades to each of those bruises left by lovers, making the owner cry in discomfort. That needle drove into his marred canvas and forced those pretty blossoms from one another.

"O-ow!"

And the smaller appendage pulled away.

"Ow…Kiku, why did you do that…?"

The slave did not raise his voice.

"Kiku…" The owner of those wounds sounded as though he could cry, all his emotion lethargic but still very much alive.

Another bruise was subjected to the mercy of Kiku's force.

"A-ah! Ahhh…" And just as the younger anticipated, maybe even desired, the descent of sadness began along Yao's cheeks, dry sobs breaking from his lips and the lovely thing wept. "Why are you doing this?"

In truth, Kiku did not know what he was doing. An opportunity was set before his fingers and he grasped it before it had fleeted and was absorbed within the realm of ghosts. Some part of him had awakened, and the other part, so soft in its mercy, was placed beneath weighty dirt.

"I'm sorry…" A kiss was placed upon Yao's dripping crown and that rapid bought of hatred was dissolved within an ocean of remorse.

"O-ow…"

And the servant continued to wash.

The moment Yao's feet drifted into that chamber his body collapsed upon an ocean of frothy sheets and his consciousness floated through the ceiling.

Kiku simply watched from the doorway, his toes propelling him inside and he drew nearer to his brother, his master, his whore, wearing a mask made of silent disgust.

He would never allow such a curse to possess his shoulders, and he would not become a simple subject to that awful addiction. He would only stay the servant of a man who had fallen into that very vice…How incredibly low. As filth upon a heel.

In his thoughts, he gently combed through Yao's suddenly stubborn hair, and no matter how that comb tore against that cleanly scalp, the owner would not wake; he only slept, mumbling small words for the pleasure of his own ears and likely exploring places centered so far away, all in the absence of Arthur and quite possibly himself.

And then there were sets of footsteps…There were always footsteps, and always a demon connected with them, summoned at the very thought of his accursed name.

"Mr. Kirkland…" Kiku greeted him and went back to straightening Yao's tangles.

"He's intoxicated, isn't he?"

"Yes…" The teeth were taken from those soaking strands. "…Mr. Kirkland, when will this end?"

"What?"

"My care of Yao…"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"Don't be difficult." A foul mood was adopted and slowly extinguished.

"My apologies…I'm simply exhausted."

"I know. He's like a child…"

"_He is a child._"

The Englishman did not reply for an extensive moment. "…Why don't you come get something to eat? I'll allow you to sleep afterwards…"

"Mr. Kirkland…When will I be seeing customers again?"

"Later this week…"

"Will I be seeing that American?"

"…Why?"

"I had a nice time with him…" Kiku was facing his lovely addict, not concentrated with the very feelings he was trampling upon.

Usually, Arthur was delighted to hear of a bond made between a client and his whore, but a sort of jealousy came over him, nearly corroding the very walls of his foundation and allowing his heart to drop into a deep well of acid. Not Kiku… Not this _kokeshi_ who had grown so heavenly; not the one he intended to make his own.

It made him writhe.

"…I would like something to eat."

"Then let's get you something…"

The possession flocked to his owner and gently took his hand as he often times did, an action not born of affection but of unadulterated obedience. And it perturbed Mr. Kirkland that the limb he held had become something so cold and dead.

Gently, the Englishman kissed his jewel upon the cheek, as he had taken to doing recently, and received the response he had so begged for.

Kiku's face had blossomed into a garden of wonderful hues.

Perhaps something beneath that exhausted exterior held a tinge of adoration…


	31. Chapter 31

"Do I look alright?"

"Yes, you do…I think you should brush your hair another time."

"Oh, yes…Thank you, Kiku." Yao followed the suggestion he was given.

The lovely man had lied within sleep's welcoming grasp the last several hours, and that potent intoxication had worn away, leaving him with worry all regarding his Russian counterpart, who he direly wanted to leave stunned.

Despite all the gorgeous man's concern, he was still a clean jewel amongst a world of coal, red claiming those smooch eyelids, and his skin the very gold it always had been. He was dressed in hues of deep sunset, orange effected by lovely fire and the most decadent for lavender; an attire to rival the very sky.

Yao did not resemble the addict that he had become, and that was of utmost importance.

"Yao! Get your ass down here!"

"…I have to go now, Kiku. Thank you." The man so clothed by the sun's dying colors left a scarlet kiss upon his servant's cheek and left him to his own eye. There was an apology within his throat, but he had not the time to release it.

Yao came downstairs and saw Mr. Kirkland awaiting his presence, eyes falling upon his toes and whatever words he would have possessed disappearing inside a deep mist of concern.

"Where is Ivan?"

"He's waiting outside for you. I trust you're over your high."

"Yes…It's worn off."

"Good. Go make his money worthwhile. This Ivan really has a soft spot for you."

"I would hope so."

Mr. Kirkland allowed calculations to fill his fingers. "So go make him like you more."

And Yao followed his instructions, finding his well grown Russian awaiting his company, a small box carried within his hands.

"Hello there."

Again, all of that sorrow was lost within a great wave of fatal admiration, a complex canvas of dirty hues submerged in a great vat of white paint, left to saturate long before it was given to clean palms.

Temporary rebirth and a chest heavy with amorous joy.

"Hello, Yao."

The smaller offered a wide grin. "What is that in your hands?"

"Something you might like, although I can't make any promises."

"Something I might like? Did you bring me a gift?"

"Well, yes. But I would be quite happy if you allowed me to share with you."

"Then we'll share."

The Russian donned his doll that box, and with willing hands, he accepted.

Yao had to consider that offer a moment. It was not clothed in wrapping, but it was still well mysterious. Russian writing marked its brow in sensuous print and it came apart easily in two pieces. Yao removed the face and became witness to a small plantation of strange, round objects holding a deep brown, healthy complexion.

"Um…Excuse me for saying this, but…Are these…_Feces_?"

The taller wore a great smile composed of stifled laughter.

"What is that face? This isn't funny. Why would you give me feces?" The lovely man held stretching lips as well, his emotions a highbred of seriousness and doubtful inquiry.

"Excuse me." Ivan stole a moment for the eradication of all that building amusement. "They aren't feces at all. They're chocolates."

"Choco…lates?"

An affirmative nod. "I wouldn't give you feces even if you demanded them, I assure you."

"Well, it's certainly reassuring to know I'm worth more than animal waste." Either had a tinge of heavy joy. "_Chocolate_…So this is chocolate."

Anyone living amongst that English beast had heard of this 'chocolate' element, and if one were to ask what Mr. Kirkland missed the most, that would likely be his answer, especially on the harder days. Although, no one knew what that unknown substance resembled, or even what its function was.

"Yes. Chocolate." The Russian wore a smile.

The stood in silence.

"Are you going to try one?"

"Try? Do I eat it?"

A few chuckles found air and an even wider stretch was birthed; the beauty's heart fluttered. "Yes."

"Ah…What does it taste like?"

"Like chocolate."

Yao laughed. "No, I mean, what does it _really_ taste like? It's good isn't it?"

"It's sweet…and yes. It's supposed to be."

The man hesitated, glancing to his pale counterpart and grinning richly.

"They're very round." A comment.

"Yes."

A few more seconds progressed, and either did not find phrases or sample that wonderful confection.

"…Yao?"

"Yes?"

"You don't trust my chocolates, do you?"

"No, no…It's not that at all."

"Then will you try one?"

"Yes…"

More waiting.

"Will you pick one for me?"

"Certainly." The Russian had a steady amount of amusement blossoming within his stomach, allowing his fingers to select the very first sacrifice, placing the unsuspecting victim within the angry god's hand. "Don't worry…The worst that can happen is you won't enjoy it. I'm not going to take offence if you have to spit it out."

"Alright…Thank you, Ivan." The fat little droplet was placed with care upon his tongue, and slowly, the man absorbed it, his eyes losing their vision behind painted curtains and his body transported to somewhere utterly pleasant. Enjoyment had soaked his taste buds, and he was given a new sort of philosophy.

Heaven was not measured in golden clouds and shining deities. It was a simple mound of darkened sweetness, and its color was rich.

"Oh my goodness…" A hand found a place upon the blessed whore's cheek. "Oh my goodness…" And he allowed that small piece built of utter delight to slip into stomach. "I'm not sure if I can share with you any longer."

"You like it?"

The gorgeous man nodded. "Why haven't I tried this sooner? Thank you…My evening has become several times better."

A genuine curl of the mouth. "I'm relieved you like them so well. I was worried you would hate them and become upset with me for allowing you to eat something you couldn't stand."

"Well, even if that was the case, I wouldn't be angry with you. I like any sort of gift."

"Thank you."

There was a brief grin upon the smaller one's face and another confection found a place within his mouth, the box then being offered to the Russian.

And after they finished chewing, expressions of happiness were exchanged. "So, what would you like to do?"

"Well…I was hoping to go on another walk, but…if you'd like to do anything else, that would be fine as well."

"You're very kind." Yao allowed a grin for his own knowledge. "…I'll have to think about that. It's been so many years and I don't think anyone has ever asked me what I would like…What can we do?"

"Maybe…I could take you for something to eat…or drink. Or perhaps you'll allow me to buy something for you."

Yao awaited the invitation of intimacy to arise, but it never adhered to his attention.

"No…you've already gotten me a gift, and I'm simply happy with your presence."

A bit of pink was applied to pale man's face with a masterful brush.

"Would you like to sit upon the steps and speak?" The lovely creature placed his inquiry. "No, no…I shouldn't pick. You're the one paying for me. I want to do whatever you like to do."

"But what if you don't?"

"Well…I do."

"Alright. Then I would like to sit upon the steps and speak."

"Is that really what you'd like?"

"Yes. That would be wonderful."

"…Please tell me if you change your mind."

"I certainly will."

They progressed only a few paced and sat upon the steps together, Yao allowing his fingers to press gently to the Russian's hand for only a moment. The box of chocolates was placed between them.

That beautiful anomaly had the softest of skin…

Yao stole a confection from its comfortable home.

"Are any other kinds of chocolates made?"

"Oh, yes…There are all sorts of chocolates. Some have nuts inside, and others have fruit."

"_Fruit?_"

The man nodded. "Like strawberries or cherries…and there's also dark chocolate, which is much more…bitter. Some people enjoy it, but I prefer something sweet."

"Have you tried all of those flavors?"

"Quite a few, but it's still a treat for me."

"Well, then I shouldn't take anymore…"Yao slid the box closer to his counterpart.

"No…I want you to have it."

The gorgeous man's brows seemed to drop and a polite smile overtook his face. "Alright…But I'll likely eat them all…What flavor are these?"

"These are just chocolate."

"Just chocolate?"

"Just chocolate."

"I really like just chocolate."

Seconds of friendly silence came and extinguished, and another sweet was eradicated between happy lips.

"Do you like sunsets, Yao?" The Russian offered a gentle inquiry.

"Yes…They're beautiful…But they can be quite sad as well."

"Sad?"

There was a nod from the gorgeous man, and another treat was lifted from that pretty home amongst patient friends.

"What do you find sad about them?"

"I'm not certain. They remind me of home, or at least…where home should be. It just seems awful that there's something so lovely right before my eyes, but I can't touch it or even come closer…and I'm just drowning in this…ugliness."

"I'm sorry…"

"No, it's alright. I shouldn't say such depressing things. You'll have to forgive me."

"No, please…You should be able to say whatever you like…not every conversation can be sunshine and pretty white clouds. Besides, that's how companions speak to one another, isn't it?"

"Well, I don't know Mr. Braginski. Are we companions?"

"I would certainly like to be."

"Wonderful. Because I would like to be as well" Another piece of chocolate was stolen from its very bed. "So, may I be your friend, Ivan?"

"Of course!" The Russian failed to silence his blatant enthusiasm. "Of course. May I be your friend?"

"No." Painful seconds fleeted and Yao wore a truthful smile. "I'm kidding…You may. But only if you bring me more chocolate."

Grins were exchanged.

"Well…You really don't have to bring me anything more, but I would not complain if you did."

"Alright."

They allowed their eyes back upon that lovely canvas, those colors silently fading as the sun tucked itself beneath a blanket of gorgeous mountains, allowing emotion born of deep thought into their hungry minds.

"Do you like sunsets, Ivan?"

"Yes…But I think you're right…They always remind me of home."

"In Russia?"

The taller nodded. "I really do adore it here…but it's difficult not to miss something you're so used to…It's very different. Like…missing a critical parent. You're glad to have your own home and live how you like, but you can never forget that person…and even if you didn't get along at every moment, you have to keep in touch at some time."

Yao thought an expansive moment, so pregnant with all his considerations. "…I really like you."

And Ivan was submerged in a well brimming with surprise the consistency of honey. "You do?"

"Mmm-hmm…"

"May I ask why?"

"Why do I like you?"

"Yes…If you don't mind…"

"Well…You're intelligent…and kind…and you've fed me treats." More words came upon his tongue. "You're pretty…and you're quite tall…I've always liked tall men." More thought. "And I like your accent."

"I have an accent?"

"Only slightly. But it's nice. I like listening to you talk."

Ivan smiled.

"And you have beautiful eyes."

Another fleeting instance of silence filled with contemplation and comfort.

"I like you too, Yao."

"Well, what do you like about me?"

The Russian considered the question a weighty moment. "I think…I like most everything about you…even though you've eaten all of my chocolates."

"I did?!" Immediately, the gorgeous man found his eyes burning a hole within that box of empty confections, covering his mouth with either palm, dosed in surprise and churning guilt. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's quite alright." The Russian was well delighted. "I bought them for you anyway."

"Oh…I'm such a fool. I should have paid attention to how much I took."

"You're not a fool. You simply enjoy chocolate."

"Well…I'm still sorry."

"It's truly alright."

Yao adopted his counterpart's visage a moment, its very composition built of honesty. "Thank you…"

"Of course."

Seconds abandoned to the frigidness of silence.

"Can I make it up to you?"

"If you truly feel the need to, then please do so."

Yao rose from his stone steps and drew closer to Ivan, slowly leaning towards him and pressing rich lips upon the tip of his nose, either palm clothing an ear.

And after a short amount of time, that mouth moved to his forehead, previously pushing away those ashen blond strands illuminated so prettily by light. The man who held those light follicles pulled his lips up at the edges, allowing his counterpart's hips into a kindly embrace.

For a moment, Ivan could not believe what fortune had dropped within his open palms. This shining god, who had torn his still beating heart from his very chest all that time ago, was lying his perfect reddened blossoms upon his brow, and did not even cause slight protest from that slender form wrapped in those strong arms.

He felt as if he had been blessed.

No…he indeed _was_ blessed.

All the hours before their meeting, he worried of the impression he would leave within Yao's mind, always to be branded there and constantly considered whenever their eyes came into conversation. What opinions could be found of his near monstrous height and snow hued complexion? What sort of words could he utilize to label those deep wells of azure jewels, gems melded within his pupils and shining with a certain element no other had?

But Yao accepted all of those qualities and stored them away inside his chest, and the Russian found his own core to be relieved of all that tedious concern, no longer required to march around in that spiral pattern of doubt and analysis.

And now, they were connected by a soft kiss, brought on by that well considered subject himself.

They had become friends.

"Thank you, Yao…"

Slight disappointment shot when the holder of his heavy heart claimed his mouth.

"Thank you, Ivan...Do you have a nickname?"

"Yes. I do."

"May I call you by that name?"

"Certainly."

"Well…what is it?"

"Vanya."

"Vanya?"

"Yes…Vanya."

"I really like your nickname too."

They embraced only fleeting seconds before assuming their expected positions and allowing those customary words, each one dragging the other closer to their companion, who was already so well regarded.


	32. Chapter 32

"Kiku…I'm so happy…"

"You're _happy?_"

"Yes. I'm happy."

"Why?"

"I'm madly in love with the man who introduced me to chocolate."

"I think you're simply intoxicated."

"No...I'm not. Not yet…Perhaps not even today."

And the grown _kokeshi _did not make reply.

Yao turned to absorb the one standing so patiently by his side, observing that tired expression, yet allowing a smile to be drawn upon his own canvas. It occupied the other's eye, yet he still did not wear a matching article.

"You fall in love too easily…What are you going to do when he leaves you for home?"

The man did not allow words from his lips, only gave those eyes to the ceiling, as if every answer in the entire world was scribed there with perfect hand.

"Yao?"

"…I know I do. But I think it's real this time."

Kiku removed a sigh from that heavy throat, and adopting a lazy garment from the floor, so soaked in silk, and placed it upon Yao's chest. "Why don't you help me? You're sober."

Again, there was only silence.

"Yao!"

"What?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"No, not really…Come here."

Kiku preformed the task demanded so sweetly of him, feet placing him closer to the still lovely deity.

"Lie down with me…"

"Yao…"

"Please."

The youth sat against those messy sheets and reclined upon his tired back, devouring the other's soft eyes and parting his lips slightly. His brow bent beneath the weight of these games so dosed in stupidity, which he hated with a passion to play.

"I'll help you, Kiku."

Silence that ticked by in long strides.

"We're going out again tonight."

"With who?"

"That American…and a few other people. But Alfred said he wanted to see you personally. Promise me you'll be careful."

"…Alone?"

The whore nodded.

"I'll be cautious…I think that Mr. Kirkland is far more a treat than Mr. Jones."

"You're right…Watch him as well."

"I am."

Again, the gorgeous man spoke to the veil above them with heavy windows, those eyes brimming with potent thought.

"Kiku…"

"What, Yao?"

"I really like Ivan."

"Why?"

"…If you could meet him you'd understand."

"Does he like you?"

"Yes…I'm certain he does. Unless I was lied to…But he simply doesn't seem like the type…He's truly cute when he smiles." And that gaze melded with Kiku's. "Do you like Mr. Jones?"

"I don't know him very well."

"I think he likes you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Didn't you catch how he was looking at you?"

"No…How was he looking at me?"

There was only a laugh. "You're so oblivious."

"I'm not."

And an even wider stretch of attractive lips. "He was looking at you as if he thought you were lovely."

"Why would he?"

"_Because you are._"

"I really don't see it."

"Well, everyone else does…It's obvious you're just insane."

Either laughed slightly.

"Perhaps I am lovely…It can't be such a bad thing."

"It's awful."

"Awful?"

"You'll know when you receive more clients…But yes. It's just awful…"

Kiku already grasped that understanding he supposedly lacked.

"Don't worry. I'm certain some rich old man will get you away from here." Yao pressed a kiss upon his counterpart's nose. "It's not all bad to be attractive."

"Why must it be a rich old man?"

"Because…They're the only ones who have enough money to buy your freedom."

Moments past occupied by sad glances.

"Why hasn't anyone taken you away?"

"Arthur has a huge price on my head…He doesn't sell anyone who can make him large sums of money…Unless there's an even larger sum in return. I suppose the only way out now is death."

"Don't say that."

"Hmm…" A minute grin and another grace upon the nose. "Don't worry about me. You're lovely…and you're not an addict." Another touch. "You'll get away from this place."

"Thank you, Yao."

"You're welcome…"

The Japanese youth drew his back from that comforting mass of sheets, glancing to his counterpart, still pressed to the same surface. "Will you help me clean your room?"

"Yes. I will."

And hours later, Kiku found himself surrounded in those gorgeous silks, colors pressed all about his face in severely cautious amounts; those shapely lips dyed a fantastic crimson.

He left with Yao after saying his good-byes to Mr. Kirkland, and they seemed to travel in the very direction they had gone the last time greetings had been offered to Alfred and his companions.

The sights and smells had not changed, drifting about the air in a shameless manner, filling the senses with their blatant exuberance and offering something as pleasurable intoxication. Yet, something fetid had lingered.

When they were met by the building's orifice, the very American in question was seen waiting patiently for his paid company, clothed in wondrous western garments.

"Good evening, Mr. Jones." Either gave word of association.

"Good evening. Has everything been going well?"

"Yes. It's been quite lovely so far." Yao offered his answer. "Before you leave with my little brother, I would like to have a brief word with you, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

"Kiku, wait here a moment."

"Oh, yes…"

The feet of the American and the Chinese man found a place at the side of that bustling establishment, boisterous noise finding ways out through the slight cracks in the walls. A conversation was made of low tones and words of serious intent.

"What's wrong, Yao?"

"Listen…I trust you, but I need to make this perfectly clear…You _may not_ do _anything_ with that boy."

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to…"

"Then you understand that you haven't paid for…" Yao could not finish his words, leaving the rest of that statement truly to educated assumption. "You cannot place even a finger on him. Not only because I've said not to, but because Mr. Kirkland will have your head, and mine." They held conversation within active eyes. "Usually, Kiku wouldn't be allowed to be out with anyone alone….But I'm putting my faith in you, because I don't believe you would take him for yourself. So _please_, do not make me regret allowing this."

The American smiled with a degree of reassurance. "Of course not…I had no intention of doing anything of the sort."

"Alright…I'm sorry. I had to be sure there wasn't any misconception."

"No…I'm not your regular foreigner, I assure you."

"I know you aren't." Yao kissed his counterpart upon the cheek. "Just be sure either of you stay out of trouble."

"Of course."

And they made their return.

"Is everything alright?" Kiku witnessed either face, so lively of the previous conversation.

"Yes. Everything is just fine." Yao was the one to answer.

"Oh…alright."

"Well…I'm going inside now. You two have a lovely time."

"We will." And Alfred's attention found Kiku's lovely visage. "Hello."

"Hello, Mr. Jones."

"How have you been?"

"I've been well; busy, but well."

"Busy? With who?"

"No one but myself…How have you been? I can see you have your glasses."

"Oh yes." Alfred placed his spectacles a little further upon his nose. "I've been fine. I missed you, so here I am…A second time." Charming curls changing the configuration of those pleasant lips. "Hopefully there will also be a third and forth."

"How about a fifth?"

"And a sixth after that."

"Until we lose track."

"Until one of us dies."

"That's quite the proposition, Mr. Jones."

"I know…I couldn't think of anything else."

The pair held nourished joy.

"Well, I hope things go so well…"

The American's response came in attractively configured mounds. "It would certainly be nice."

And attraction fluttered to the boy's pounding core, already falling for those lips and eyes that glowed as precious sapphires.

Did he like Alfred Jones to such an extent?

For knowing him such a short duration of time, yes.

"Well, what are we going to do, Mr. Jones? We're not going inside this place, are we?"

"No…We're not. I was hoping we could simply walk around…and when you don't want to walk any longer, I could return you to the Pavilion and we could sit outside again…unless you're fed up with me at that point…I'll just let you be."

"I doubt highly I'll be fed up with you."

"Well, In the event that you are, I won't irritate you any further."

"Alright, we'll see…"

They began their descent.

"Kiku, would you mind very much if I held your hand?"

"Hold my hand?"

The only person's hand Kiku had taken possession of in past years was Mr. Kirkland's…He could not place emotions of enjoyment upon it.

"My, you foreigners are strange."

And the very man left beneath that question laughed. "You're just as much of a foreigner as I am! All you need is blond hair and glasses."

Kiku allowed his happiness air as well. "Can I borrow yours a moment?"

"Of course." Alfred allowed his strange article into his companion's hand, those shining windows gently finding places before the youth's wells of lovely ink, the bridge fitting strangely and the ability of odd focus bestowed upon those curious eyes.

"Oh my goodness. How do I look?"

"Well, I don't know! I can hardly see two paces in front of me." He answered, yet with a smile and enormous kid. "But you probably look just fine."

Kiku allowed the blond his glasses and was affected by the same breed of grin. "Thank you."

"It's no problem...Now; my I hold your hand?"

"Well, I suppose so." Kiku connected their palms with shy fingers, and each of those digits intertwined with another, causing warmth to develop between their once lonesome limbs.

"This is nice."

"I'm happy you think so."

"I like your hand…"

"I like your hand as well…It's very smooth."

"Thank you…" Kiku's once active heart became something cozy, spreading warmth throughout his veins and into that pale complexion, the rouge placed so delicately upon his cheeks illuminating with even more vigor and crying life.

He enjoyed that bit of course skin that was pressed so softly to his touch, something like Mr. Kirkland's awful hand, yet utterly different. He had such a kindness within him, not like those English hands, used mainly for donning punishment and grasping whatever lied before those needy fingers…This man would be lovely to embrace.

"I'm sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Oh, no…Not at all. I'm simply not used to holding hands this way." Yet, the notion was well adjusted to. "Discomfort due to pleasure. I'm not certain is I should be enjoying it this much."

"So you _are_ uncomfortable?"

"In the best possible way."

That impeccable face so made of the sun's generous rays.

"So, a good sort of discomfort?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Well, I feel the same."

"But why are you uncomfortable?"

The blond regarded his date almost as if his mind had been destroyed by a sort of undoable insanity. "Is it so hard to figure out?"

"Yes. What are you speaking of?"

They both wore masks built upon stifled amusement and stomachs writhing with the notion of ruining the evening.

The American regarded the ocean of stars before him and thought an extensive moment. "Well…You make me nervous."

"_I make you nervous_? How Can I make you nervous, Mr. Jones? Look at me."

"_Look at me!_ I'm just a crazy idiot who found a place in China! Why shouldn't I be nervous?"

"_Why should you be?_ You might very well be crazy, but I assure you, idiots don't learn Chinese fluently…I don't see anything wrong with you…So how is it possible that someone like myself can make you nervous? What you've done is far beyond admirable."

"Thank you, Kiku."

"You're very welcome, but you haven't answered my question."

"Well…You're lovely."

"That's why I make you nervous?"

"Of course…Lovely individuals such as yourself always make men such as myself nervous…It's natural not to want to ruin our relationship when it's so young."

"Well, there's no reason to feel such things. From a first impression, I find you to be a kind and genuine person…And the last time you had to leave was because it was too late, and none the less, I missed you…So you don't need to worry. I think we have very good potential together…And I believe, if it was my decision, that I would see you again. Unfortunately, it's not...And very soon every moment spent with someone outside my home will be paid for."

"Thank you, Kiku. You have no idea how much better I feel hearing that."

"Of course, Mr. Jones."

"Would you mind calling me Alfred?"

Before Kiku released his answer, a laugh came. "I don't think I can pronounce that…But I'd like to."

And in return, the America felt the same sort of tickle. "Oh, I see. It's actually quite easy once you get the hang of it."

"Says the native speaker."

Again, another set of joyous noise. "Just try it."

"Don't make fun of me…"

"I won't. I promise…Trust me, if anyone knows what it's like to struggle with pronunciation, it's me."

"Alright…Al…" Kiku once again found his lips curling. "Al…frredd…Al-frred." A noise attesting to the state of his center. "Al-frred."

"Alfred."

"Al-frred."

"See, you have it."

Kiku held his lips, that healthy grin still growing as a monstrous child. "May I please call you Mr. Jones?"

"If you feel the need to…"

"Al-frred."

Either laughed.

"I know…I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Unless you named yourself."

"I didn't."

"Then I forgive you."

It was another night Kiku found himself within his bed late.


	33. Chapter 33

Kiku sat within his room, half of his body veiled within those European sheets, and his hand sleeping heavily upon his thigh. His member had become aroused, his mind brimming with affection and sex.

He experienced utter shame, never having dealt with such a moment in the past.

And even more red came by his fantasies, filled with grinning Americans and loud moans.

Slowly, he loosened the robes lapping upon his suddenly screaming flesh, allowing his hardening length to the calm waves resting above it. Gently, he lifted the blankets, looking at the monster developing and devouring all his blood in the process, the beast standing straight up, laughing at him; mocking him.

Kiku regarded the chamber with eyes burning in worry, seeing that his screens weren't parted and there was no one walking within those halls.

He leaned upon his pillow, sacrificing his vision and those fingers wrapping around the engrossed shaft, a soft cry coming from that gentle encounter.

With hesitance, he moved his fingers blades towards that weighty ceiling, and removed the sea sitting upon his midsection, those frothy waves stopping just as his knees, new feeling engulfing him and embellishing those cheeks with the most potent of rubies.

Pleasure had overtaken his blood in previous instances, but not in such a horrid flood…

Again, his wrist moved towards those faux heavens and retreated to his thigh, lips parting slightly.

The entire world occurred to him.

It was not a wonder why so many paid for Yao; why so many wanted another's touch upon their most secretive areas.

Kiku had assumed that the desires for such acts were nothing but the desire to be close to another, almost as a paid embrace, a performance only built of love and compassion.

And in some way, they indeed were…But there was also the simple urge for these things, the aspect that brought no affection or nearness or even the need for the other's name.

_Just sex. _

Kiku's hand adhered more firmly to his length, pumping slightly faster and allowing the slight fluid gathering at his head to spread along his demanding flesh.

"Ah-!"

Yes…He wanted that intimacy and that sex…He wanted to be inside someone; he wanted someone inside of him, to lie upon his back, his stomach, another's flesh_, anything_.

He wanted a tongue within his mouth, fingers, a cock…He wanted an Englishman, a Chinese man, and American.

He had finally desired what all the others had taken numerous times before.

He wanted love and lust and knowledge.

Kiku's mouth opened wider as his arm increased with vigor, a bit of strain livid within his muscles, but the need for an excess of pleasure deeply outweighed the discomfort.

For the first and possibly the very last instance, he wanted to be a whore…There was desire for silk and men that truly had not been there in previous years; a hunger for their fingers and their needs, which they had lost so much for.

"Ah! A-ah!"

Sharp cries came into the air.

And suddenly, it came to a brutal end, the boy's fingers stopping and ropey white discharge draining from his newly donned manhood, coding the sides of his numerals and leaving him with nothing but dying ecstasy and regret.

A few minutes were devoured for the regaining of composure, immediate guilt impregnating him. He felt as if he had committed some sort of cardinal sin, almost as if he was not allowed to grace his own organ with such blades, although the order not to had never even kissed his ear.

It was almost as though he had thrown his shining innocence into a cruel wild fire, nourishing it and prepared never to hold it again within his careful hands. Now, fingers tips were left dirty and his heart was drowning in relentless guilt.

It was the first time he had ejaculated upon his own will, and it caused his innards to scream. He felt as a sullen wore by simply dirtying his once pristine sheets within a seldom dream, but now the blood laced his palms, his wrists, his entire arm…

And no matter how he scrubbed, he could not subdue those stains.

With a knot forming within his throat, he wiped his dirtied hand upon the bed, not willing to wear the very evidence himself, and secured his open mouth with an entire palm, tears descending upon his cheeks and sobs draining from the same orifice only moments ago entertained with audible satisfaction.

"What have I done?"

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he cried with voice, not his usual silent chokes. But actual emotion leaking from those watered eyes.

"Kiku, what the fuck are you crying about?"

And to consummate that joyous event, Mr. Kirkland came to slash ribbons.

The screen came open and the British man invaded that filled space, closing it behind him and allowing all his anger to sudden confusion, and perhaps even attraction at the state of his jewel.

"Why are you crying?" Arthur came closer and observed that calming member, a small amount of release lining the tip. "…Did you just fuck yourself or did someone fuck you? Because if anyone put their hands on you, I'll cut their goddamn head off and take the money they owe me…And yours too, come to think of it."

Kiku tried to stifle those overbearing sobs but could not, giving the Englishman the worst possible assumption that could be placed within his mind.

"Shit! You just gave it away?! _Like that?!_ You little slut! Who was it?!"

"No-no one, Mr. Kirkland!"

"On your fucking stomach!"

When a response was not made, a harsh reprimand caught an already flushed cheek, a loud burst coming from the very impact.

"_I said get on your fucking stomach!_"

Without words, the _kokeshi _did what was asked of him, lying upon his center with his entire visage subjected to horrid pain.

Mr. Kirkland's hands lifted the silk hiding his supposed virgin's bottom, revealing two untouched mounds, perfect as the flesh of a ripened peach.

For a brief moment, Arthur had forgotten his very purpose, a new sort of desire taking him and shaking his very composition down to the marrow within his bones.

A sob from the child's mouth awoke him.

With suddenly careful hands, the demon spread Kiku's tempting cheeks, observing that no lubrication or discharge marked the area, and his 'innocence' had been unharmed.

Reaping advantages, a finger of the Englishman's eased between those piles of supple flesh and touched softly to that sealed opening in a bought of senseless need, and began to coax, trying to find a place within that lovely body.

"Ah-! Mr. Kirkland, that hurts! I didn't have sex with anyone, I promise you…"

A finger tip was admitted entrance to the youth's inside, and Kiku cried even more loudly, deep breathes eating his chest and making those noises even more unpleasant.

"Ahhh! Please don't!"

And Arthur reclaimed his digit. "Why the hell were you crying?"

The near child readjusted his disheveled robes and sat upon his sheets, regarding Mr. Kirkland with calming eyes and a tired expression.

"I don't know…"

The Englishman observed the pink mark he had left upon Kiku's cheek, that bruise screaming of his wrath.

"I felt…guilty."

"You felt _guilty?_ Why?"

"Because I wasn't sure if I was allowed to…"

"Rub one off?"

"What?" The grown doll took each of those syllables into consideration a long moment. "I suppose so…"

"Well, you are. I think it might actually be good for you…" A filthy British smirk. "Just don't start fingering yourself…as long as you don't do that, I really don't care."

"Oh, alright…"Kiku did not comprehend what exactly was being referred to, but he had no plans of performing that action again.

A few moments lived their lives in silence and slowly expired.

"I'm sorry I hit you." The pale man leaned towards his distraught beauty and kissed his reddened skin.

"That's alright…" Kiku touched his scarlet flesh. "…I overreacted."

Another gentle touch. "Well, I'll be going now. I would suggest fixing your garments."

And Arthur held to his promise, leaving the upset child.

Kiku dressed as if nothing had occurred.


	34. Chapter 34

The lovely man applied crimson to those sweet blossoms, regarding their reflection within the looking glass set before him.

"You're seeing Mr. Braginski again?"

"Yes. I'm glad Arthur actually told me this time…It's a shame that it's raining outside."

"Hmm…"

"What's the matter, Kiku? I have a few minutes."

"It's nothing, really. I'm just overreacting to something seemingly normal."

"What is that 'something seemingly normal'?" Yao regarded his sibling, eyes teeming with the kindness and understanding the man was born from. "You know you can tell me."

"I know…It's just difficult finding the correct words to come."

There was a simply glance in reply, those eyes wallowing in their patience.

"Well…" Kiku omitted sigh. "I-uh…Masturbated…" His cheeks screamed while his voice shrunk. "And it was the first time I had…It feels like I've done something wrong." He did not mention the incident regarding Mr. Kirkland, afraid of causing unnecessary conflict within his very home. There was nothing that could be erased, and most of their fights ended with an upset Englishman and a bloodied whore.

"Oh, Kiku…" Yao drew nearer and brushed that ebony curtain hanging before the grown _kokeshi's_ brow, giving him a gentle brand in loud scarlet. "There's no reason to feel bad about that…It's normal for you to feel such needs." A smile came upon his pretty lips, its form the incarnation of dirty thought. "Honestly, it's better that you did so…" Yao's voice became something far more personal. "I would die if I had to deal with being aroused longer than a few minutes." And another kiss.

Kiku's face adopted a darker shade, causing the elder to fill his ears with joy and press his mouth to his only clean cheek.

"You're so sweet, Kiku."

"Thank you…"

"Excuse me…I have to continue getting ready."

"Of course…"

Kiku returned to his room to allow Yao his time, the upset feelings writhing about his stomach seeming to quell from all of the elder's kind reasons. Speaking with him always seemed to be as green tea to a hollering center.

And for the third time, that beautiful whore descended those stairs to glance into the sapphires held within his Russian's eyes, who had done nothing but a fantastic job claiming his heart gently from his chest. With soft hands, he had robbed the article always kept upon display, something so many had desired, yet so few could even regard, much less hold within their very fingers.

The sky sobbed ugly tears of abrasive anger, and the owner of that cursed place had welcomed Ivan inside the establishment. He held a sopping wet garment within his strong arms and flesh kissed by the cloud's sorrow.

"Hello, Yao."

"Hello, Vanya."

Shared grins.

"Well…" Mr. Kirkland intervened. "I'll be going now. You two have a lovely time."

But those very two did not leave the other to gaze.

They only spoke when their company had been thrown into their own palms.

"You're back earlier this time, Mr. Braginski. You should know that I'm pleasantly surprised."

"You couldn't keep me away."

Yao smiled, warmth residing within his irises. "Well…What are we going to do today? The weather is miserable."

"Well…I had another walk planned…But you're right. I'm lucky I didn't drown."

The other laughed."I doubt you could if you tried. You're far too tall…"

"I suppose there are certain advantages to knocking your head on things occasionally."

Another edition of joy and the smallest of the pair took a moment to observe his admirer's clothing. "Oh…But you're still soaked." Those usual fluffy strands were nearly bolted to his forehead and his blouse had connected with his skin. "Why don't I get you something to dry off with? We can let your clothes air out and sit in room in the mean time…"

"Your room? Am I allowed there?"

"Of course you are! It's my room and I want you inside it. If anyone has a problem with it, I'll simply kick them out."

A smile. "Alright."

The two moved upstairs by two flights, their weight announcing their presence as loudly as a clear bell. Attention was drawn to their heavy steps, and the Russian wore a mist of blush about his face, feeling as a monstrous eyesore that was not only unappealing to the vision but obnoxious as well.

As Ivan walked along the hall, a few heads poked form their screens, attention sitting upon that head of ashen hair and clinging to that tall figure.

Yao could feel his insecurity and stole that hand softly, finding all of those features that brought stares beautiful. He had been subdued with fatal attraction. And even though it had stricken him as lighting claims its unsuspecting victims, it was powerful and nothing but imminent.

But he did not speak those words. He knew what everyman had paid for.

"Oh! Ivan…" And an idea formed.

"Yes?"

"My little brother is here…Would you mind meeting him? We've been speaking about you, and I would love for you to make his acquaintance."

"You've been speaking of me? You've been saying nice things, haven't you?"

"Of course."

"Then I would be delighted to."

"Wonderful…I'll allow you to get out of those clothes first."

"Thank you."

The two moved into Yao's room, and immediately, Ivan's vision devoured the sights that odd universe had to give, almost as if each vibrant color offered a flavor far vitiating from the next, and each were spectacular. His fingers could almost feel those oddities, especially that bed sitting so politely against the wall, although it was largest bruise marring milky skin.

"You have a bed…"

"Oh yes…Mr. Kirkland bought it for me quite a while ago…"

"I haven't seen one for what feels like ages."

The lovely man did not make reply, but came to the Russian's chest, allowing his distracted state to dominate him as his experienced fingers undid the clasps holding his soaked garment closed.

"Oh-! You don't have to do that."

"It's alright. I don't mind."

I bit of upset gathered within the larger man's stomach and his cotton was tossed from his shoulders and the lovely man's blackened jewels came into friendly acquaintance with his own. It was not the pain of disgust, but the discomfort of nervousness.

Yao did not take notice to this bit of sickness. Instead, he regarded his companion's muscles with a soft glance, his form well toned with those light hairs claiming small land upon his chest, and creating a thin trail along his stomach and then hidden by cruel trousers. That very center came in attractive knots, and the admirer had to fight the need to observe with his fingers.

Fort a moment, the whore's heart fluttered and their eyes spoke.

"I suppose you'd like to remove your trousers?"

"Yes, please."

Yao walked from his guest and stood near his window, regarding the sky as it sobbed. His gaze was tempted to adhere to his changing mannequin, yet he did not allow it to stray from each drop of liquid emotion jumping from those great clouds.

"Yao, you can look. I have undergarments."

Without words, the doll turned and offered those reddened cheeks a smile composed in the very essence of unfettered beauty.

"You don't have to be shy…" Yao offered meaning within his eyes. "…I'll return soon with a cloth…"

And with that, Yao left the Russian alone to his soaking skin and uncomfortable wears.

Ivan was subjected to silence a long moment, and his eyes devoured the room a second time. It was as if he had walked into a floating dream, being inside such a place; home to that gorgeous deity he had wanted to know for such a long duration.

Surprise shook him as the door clicked open and another lovely soul regarded him with the same amount of shock.

"Who-who are you?"

"Oh…uh-I'm Ivan Braginski. I'm a guest of Yao's…Who are you?"

"I'm Kiku…I came inside to clean…Didn't Yao leave already?"

"No…He said we could stay here because it's raining so furiously. He went to get me something to dry off with…" There was an awkward smile sitting upon the Russian's mouth. "It's nice to meet you…Perhaps not the best of situation, but…Better than not at all."

"Oh, yes…My brother had told me a lot about you…You're quite tall."

"Thank you…"

And odd grin forming the other's lips. "Well…I'll leave you alone. I can pick up later."

"Thank you…I'm sorry about my current condition."

"I'm sorry I didn't know you were here. Have a nice time."

"Thank you."

For a moment, Kiku considered that Russian's features as he stood outside that portal.

Yes, he was certainly an attractive man with a good heart upon first impression...It was not a wonder why Yao liked him so well. He held such honest eyes, something one would hardly see inside the Pavilion.

The grown _kokesh_i went back to his room.

And Yao returned with a cloth and silken blanket, lying either upon the bed's calm surface and handing the rougher piece to his Russian primarily.

"Once you're dry, you can use this blanket…I don't want you to be cold."

"Thank you, Yao…" Ivan accepted his necessity and first took the precipitation from his face and strands of suddenly sticky hair, moving to his neck and shoulders all while Yao watched with certain affinity within his observance.

The taller noted his companion's gaze but did not attempt to direct it away from his flesh; although that attention surrounded him as a heavy ocean and caused his once calm heart to accelerate. It wasn't often he was so admired. He was usually struck with stares of near contempt or disgusted fascination, but hardly a gaze formed of admiration.

And the cloth touched to his waist and stretched upon his thighs.

"Are you going to remove your…" The lovely man did not finish his statement.

"Yes, please."

Yao nodded and assumed a place before the window once more, allowing the man behind him his privacy as his legs were released of the wet garments and secured that fabric along his middle, the dripping cloth admitted to the pile he had already created.

Before raising his words and addressing the deity waiting so patiently for him, he allowed the blanket to take form around his large shoulders, the silk long enough to kiss every naked part of him, all accept for his face gone so admired in minutes past.

"You can look now."

And the other turned.

A grin came upon the pretty visage. "You look like you're ready for bed."

"Oh? Do I?" A few laughs. "I feel much more comfortable now…Thank you."

"Of course…" A soft moment came and died within those elegant fingers, and jewels the hue of ink came regard the dull sky. "You might just have to stay here all night."

"Would you mind?" The Russian knew he was kidding, or perhaps came to simple lamentation; regardless, neither wore masks composed in the fires of seriousness.

"Of course not. Any time I have with you is special…"

"Yao…" Again, blush spread across his face as the most priceless of paint, yet the very colors that usually made the owner feel so foolish brought a shimmering curl to his admirer's face. How cute he was, and he did not even know…Shortly after, the lovely man sought answers written upon his feet.

"Vanya, may I ask you something?"

"Of course…"

"You know what I am, don't you?"

"That depends. What are you?"

"I'm a whore…" The man answered simply, all his joy seeming to come into contact with something far stricter. He could not meet the Russian's kindly gaze.

"I know…And it's extremely unfortunate."

"Then why haven't you…" His bottom lip was help by nervous teeth.

"Why haven't I taken you?"

"Yes. For a moment, I was beginning to think it was too good to be true."

"Well…I value you. I've wanted to meet as soon as I saw you on stage…I didn't come here simply for that sort of relationship. I wanted to know you and possible become friends…And as soon as I found out I _could_ contact you, I did…Although the context of the visit was different from what one would usually expect…" A small smile illuminated that friendly visage. "To me, you're far more than just a body…"

And for a moment, that broken man found himself stunned. In all his years lying to the faces of old men of his fetid attractions towards them, not one had told him those very words, which weighed heavy upon his palms as the most sacred unfettered gold. Not one had fed him such a phrase that filled as throat as sweet honey, and was just powerful enough to shatter his heart and wet those made-up eyes. And if he had not been in the company of another, he would likely begin to sob, emotion hitting him as the violent waves of an ocean, yet he had desired that very smack for what felt like his entire life. He would wail as the man who was fortunate enough to find the spring of utter salvation, and he would not stop until that entire body had been drunken.

Few other words could mean so much to him.

Because no matter how his flesh was embellished, or his body, or even if he very mind was placed within the arms of utmost intelligence, he would be seen by all eyes as nothing but a whore. His brow would always have that scarlet brand as the worst of scars, and few who knew the truth would have eyes like that of the beautiful Russian, who could see into that iron hot weld and regard the soul who screamed within the flesh; a soul built of aspirations, as well as fatal hope, and enough love to drown an entire palace in warmth.

"You have no idea of how much that means to me, Ivan…" And tinges of raw emotion leaked upon his rouge dashed cheeks, although his features remained unmoved. "Thank you."

And the tall man drew closer in proximity and gently took those droplets with a cautious thumb, all the strength within those arms dormant to offer his precious jewel nothing but the kindest touch.

Something within that lovely Russian was marinated with joy as well. He had found someone who could see past sapphires instead of treating them as a simple cultural barrier. He had always felt like an outcast, even within his beautiful homeland, all recorded in the blank stares he received or the slight laughs uttered secretly at the rolling of his Rs.

It was as if all the prayers he had offered to those unfamiliar gods had been answered, those pain staking years of mispronunciation and grammatical mistakes were paid off, and he was able to take the tears from his idol's fantastic face with his very own fingers, instead of sitting and watching as another hero did so upon a vibrant stage. He had fallen deep in love before their acquaintance had even been made.

All that time spent worrying about possible words and connecting his eyes with a cruel reflection that only told him of how strange he was had become utterly null.

What he had wanted was placed so softly inside his large palms, and in that instance, he held his gorgeous companion, tears of relief and joy and unfettered gratefulness leaving trails along his calmed frame, within a deep amorous embrace. It did not matter that he was practically nude, nor that his flesh may have retained its chill from the sky's hollering upset; Yao had still taken his body into those arms and accepted every last part of him, whether it be cold or pale or completely blond. It had all become moot, and he was only allowed to offer that golden soul.

The Russian had to fight the difficult knot birthed within his throat, as well as the tears forming as conspirators within his pristine windows.


	35. Chapter 35

"So…You've come back for me…"

Arthur Kirkland was taken by shock as he looked into the familiar face, yet seeing an entire soul he had not witnessed before.

And the owner of that visage stared back, his eyes partially clouded in disbelief, and well over taken by something comparable to rage.

"…_Hong?_"

"I've been waiting so long for this day…So I could tell you how much I've hated you…But now that I'm looking at your ugly face, I have nothing left to say."

"Ugly, huh? Your brother is far better at putting me down, but if you don't want to talk anymore, I suppose I'll be in my merry way." As the Englishman turned to leave, the grown child caught his arm within a gentle grasp.

"Take me to my brother."

"For what?"

"What do you think I have to give? What do I look like? _A rich man?_"

"No. You look like a stupid bitch who's about to have a bloodied lip. I don't care who you belong to. You're mine the minute you piss me off. Would you like to try again?"

"…What can I do for you?"

"That's what I thought." The Englishman thought for duration of seconds, his conclusion reached after a very short period. "Have you had sex yet?"

"What sort of question is that to ask in public?"

"Have you?"

"Yes. I have."

"Do you have anywhere to be?"

The younger's calculations could almost be heard within that active mind. "No…Not at the moment."

"How much time do you have?"

"I don't know…I'm sure Monsieur Bonnefeuille won't miss me…"

"Good. Then come with me."

"I want to see my brother before I do anything with you…" Hong responded without a single beat lost, and his blood searing with regret born of his filthy promise.

Hong had never wanted to see that bastard set so conveniently before him, but having him tied to his elder brother, there wasn't a choice if he had desired to find him. Some part of him considered this great opportunity lucky, running into his former owner upon those haphazard streets, where it was likely they never would have had their meeting, but another section was so filled with that ancient detest he could hardly contain the quivering of his fists. Hong could not remember a time within that life he had not held such ill feelings toward that blond man. He might as well have been born writhing at his very image.

And Hong followed that captor of slaves, disgusted.

Memories of times evaporated came as the grown child's eyes touched to that dying building. The entire edifice looked as if it had changed completely; its flesh older and those once luminescent characters becoming so very dull.

He recalled all the times he had sat upon those stone steps and the times he had past those wide open doors, a welcome to the great prison…All the times he had roamed those halls and lied within soft grass surrounding the brick path.

The times when there was his older brother.

How was one supposed to behave after so many years of separation?

They came inside that cursed Pavilion, Hong's eyes devouring all of those familiar sights and even the same fetid smell that drifted through out those halls perpetually.

"Is Yao's room still in the same place?"

"Yes. I'll come get you when I'm ready…and I don't care what you do after that."

"…Alright. Thank you." The last words held fatal poison.

The Englishman did not have a reply, only placed a grin upon those malicious lips.

And Hong began the longest climb there had been inside that short life, his feet progressing forward with excess speed, but it almost seemed as if he was moving with a lack of that quickness, placed within a great vat of water and expected to run.

Everything had altered, yet in some strange way, it had not.

When he reached that upper floor, his heart truly began to race. He did not bother with stopping, or knocking upon his brother's door when he met it. Simply, he forced that block from its frame and with easy comply, he was gratified.

But he did not like what he witnessed.

Yao's body was indeed inside that chamber, but his soul had been dissolved within his eyes, so full of that euphoria he required. A pipe was poised within his palm, and those blossoms men paid so much for were gaping, smoke evading them and rising towards the ceiling in a putrid grey hoard.

And immediate sickness filled the younger.

Either of them remained still for moments composed of the longest of years, while no words were offered between their throats. Instead, Hong's darkened pearls were drowning in the distress sampling his core, and his cheeks were flooded with a regretful downpour.

He brother had died and he had paid witness.

Even when the grown child called his name, the dead man did not reply. The only answer was another cloud of haunting smoke, this time exiting through his nostrils and commanding an ugly wheeze.

"Hello…Is there someone there?"

A sweet voice startled the welcomed intruder, but he did not run.

And when the door opened a second time, either sibling regarded one another, Hong taking in Kiku, and Kiku taking in Hong.

"…Is that you, Hong?"

"Kiku?"

The Japanese youth came nearer to his lost companion and draped him within a tight embrace, regarded Yao over his shoulder soaked in the same silks every whore had acquired.

"I'm sorry you have to see him like this."

The child who had been gone for all those seasons cried with all the emotion tearing into his very foundation, holding his forgotten companion as a distraught child to its mother's leg.

"_What happened to him?_"

"So many things…"

The dreaming man placed his pipe upon his lap and regarded the pair, a stupid sort of smile laced upon his lips. He could see either of his brothers in that scope of welling illusions, but he had so many times before.

Not a day had passed that he had let the memory of his sibling to time, _his Hong_. But the words regarding him were swallowed as bitter tea in the form of medicine, and he was left with a heart missing a cardinal piece. The pain gradually lessened, but at least weekly, Yao found his fingers against those old photographs, so marred by the years' unfriendly grip, and he relived that time so long ago when his brother was still so small.

But this Hong was a new version, and he could not label him a jewel or another faux treasure, as there had been so many in the past.

His reality had lost its eyes.

And so, either existed only paces from one another, yet entire universes apart. Even if their fingers touched, intertwined by dreams and very real despair, those great worlds would only drift further from one another, proximities dying and hearts breaking once again.

There was no collision; only sadness from either ruler.

And when Arthur found his temporary treasure, he was taken away without so much as the courtesy of phrase, forced into the haven where the Englishman resided, and placed among the many trinkets lining the walls and floor.

Tears did not descend when fabric was pushed from those golden shoulders, or when that body was pinned beneath the white edition of flesh, ruined so permanently by ugly scars. They did not descend when the younger was forced upon his stomach, or when his chest was afflicted by the burns of the demon's passion.

They had all been wasted upon a man who could not feel them.

And after the brief affair, Hong returned to his own Pavilion, welcomed by another night of the same sort of work.


	36. Chapter 36

And in his regret, Yao sobbed.

"Listen to me! You _need_ to stop! Your Braginski or whatever the hell he's called is coming very soon! I will not lose a customer because you're too _stupid_ to recognize your own brother!"

Only more cries of unfettered pain.

"_Yao!_"

"He's gone! He's gone and he was right there! I saw him…" A choke. "I saw him…"

"Be quiet! Get up and prepare yourself! I'll beat the addiction out of you, you goddamn whore!"

"Hong…"

The Englishman held true to his words, as he always had, and knocked the distraught beauty across the face with a beaten palm, placing him against the frothy sheets with even more tears welling within his eyes.

He became hysterical and Mr. Kirkland gave away his determination, walking past the Japanese doll standing so patiently by the door way, and regarded him with those exhausted emeralds.

"…Can you fix this, Kiku?"

"No…I doubt highly that I'll be able to say anything that will make him stop."

"Well…That's just peachy."

"What are we going to do about Ivan?"

The blond took critical seconds to feed the monster living within his mind, his lower lip skinned and his mouth slightly opened. "…Would you mind keeping him company while Yao calms down?"

"No. I wouldn't mind."

"Alright."

"Don't worry, Mr. Kirkland. I doubt that Ivan will leave for good…I'm sure he'd actually like to see Yao…I might not have to entertain him for long."

"You're probably right."

"I certainly hope so…"

That youth was once again assigned a soft touch, although he had done nothing to request it.

And when that Russian man arrived directly upon his schedule, greetings were given from the foul mouthed Englishman with the grown _kokeshi_ at his side.

Ivan carried within his careful arms a gift wrapped within lovely paper and a bottle of a certain type of alcohol, although Kiku, nor Arthur, could decode the Cyrillic lining the bottle's brow.

"Hello, Mr. Kirkland." A slight bow of the head. "Kiku…"

"Hello, Mr. Braginski."

"Is everything alright?"

"Well…At the moment, Yao is somewhat…preoccupied." The monster with lush eyes was first to give explanation. "And I apologize…But while Yao is getting himself ready, Kiku would be delighted to keep you company, of course, at no expense."

"What is he busy with?"

The wailing could not be heard so many floors below.

"He hasn't managed his time correctly and is unsightly." It wasn't necessarily a lie.

"Ah…I see. Well, I don't mind being patient."

"Wonderful. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"It's alright. Sometimes these things cannot be controlled."

"…I'll alert you when Yao is ready."

A nod from either party and a missing Brit.

For a moment, the Russian and the Japanese boy, so small in comparison, regarded one another, both mouths barren of what words to offer.

"Well, Mr. Braginski, what would you like to do for the time being?"

"Perhaps talk…Do you have anywhere you would like to sit?"

The smaller gave confirmation in the nodding of his head. "Please follow me."

The Russian was led out into the garden, so wondrous in the light of day, hues popping from all the places upon the grass and the trees all seeming to sigh happily while bathed in that light and comforting breeze. Their feet shifted softly through compliant blades of emerald and took places upon that stone bench placed so pleasantly beneath that singing tree.

Ivan allowed his items to his side, the container of odd liquor sitting as a trophy upon the paper chest's brow.

"Are those gifts for Yao?"

"Oh, yes…"

"May I ask what they are?"

"If you promise not to tell him about them; certainly." The pale man placed a small grin against those fresh lips.

"Of course not…It's not in my place to say a word."

A silent nod. "This bottle…" That large palm wrapped around the neck of that container as one would hold a deceased chicken. "It's vodka."

"Vod…Ka? Is that how you say it?"

"Yes. That's right." The glass lied amongst the fingers demanding the suns golden grace, and the box constructed of heavy paper and careful wrapping was adopted. "And this is a dress…I really hope that Yao likes it."

"I'm sure he will…Yao enjoys most any kind of gift…"

And for a moment, silence took their communication.

"Kiku, what really happened?"

"…With your appointment?"

"Yes…Usually, he's exactly on time…And considering our growing friendship…It's not because of me, is it?"

"Oh no! No…Not at all. He almost never stops talking about you."

"Does he…" The man with those deep azure eyes trailed off a lengthily moment. "Does he speak of anyone else in that way?"

"No. he hasn't in a very long time…" The syllables needed great order before they spilled within the air. "I think in order to explain this properly, I should tell you something of my brother…Would you mind listening?"

"No, please…Go ahead."

"Well…When I was very small, there used to be another child who lived here...And he was Yao's sibling…Mr. Kirkland and he had gotten into a fight about something or other, and to get Yao back for his harsh words, Mr. Kirkland had sold Hong to another whore house…"

The Russian's expression filled with mild disbelief and disgust.

"He would do such a thing?"

"Yes…I believe he's capable of far worse than that…But anyway, after Yao found out that his brother had been given to someone else, he nearly beat Arthur to death with a camera that was sitting inside his room…And the day after…" Kiku was unsure of how to continue, knowing the words that would come next were truly not meant to be his, and should not be set free by his own tongue.

"Yes…?"

"And the day after, Yao began to smoke opium…And he hasn't stopped since."

Their bodies lingered in the silence set around them, and all that the smaller had just said seemed to leak in through the tiniest of pores and had the texture of honey. The Russian had become something horrified, but he bore his thought's weight with a closed set of lips.

"Yesterday, his brother somehow found Mr. Kirkland and returned…But when he arrived, Yao was too intoxicated to even see him…And he had changed so drastically, he probably didn't recognize him at the time. But he realized what had occurred and he's been crying the last hour or so…I'm guessing Mr. Kirkland is trying to get him to stop so he can see you."

"…That's terrible…He's likely in no mood to see anyone."

"No. But I'm certain he _would_ like to see you." A quick furrow of brows and a sympathetic smile.

_Welcome to the Crimson Lily Pavilion, Mr. Braginski. It's hell upon earth. _

"I'm sorry if I've said too much…If you feel that you can't come back…The very least you can do is say Good-bye to Yao. He has a very high opinion of you."

"I'll certainly be coming back…But I'll likely take time to think about everything you've just said to me."

"Of course."

"…But for the time being, I would like to see Yao."

"I'm not sure if you can…Mr. Kirkland…" Again, moments ticked by lost in essence of a great tangle of thoughts. "I don't think I'll be able to come with you…But I doubt anything awful will happen if you go yourself…You can tell Arthur that you were becoming impatient, if you wouldn't mind doing so…"

"Oh, yes…I don't want you to be in any trouble. Thank you for telling me the truth."

A nod and a Russian placed upon a cardinal mission, all his equipment in hand and determination whirling within his blood.

Ivan, with a small concentration of difficulty, located that long flight of awful stares and went upwards, all of those heavy footsteps moaning having no meaning now that something far more than himself rested within his large hands.

He located the lovely man's chamber, and found fragments of sorrow to leak from the slightly gaping screen. There were no signs of that belligerent Englishman, and gently, his palm came to that portal and easily tore an entrance from the compliant sliding of the door from the frame. As he entered, his feet were calm and he observed the scene at hand a long moment before placing the gifts to that broken deity at a near proximity to his left ankle.

His very body filled with the horror that had become that man.

Yao was sitting upon the edge of his bed, his face knocked from its pleasing gold to all sorts of violent hues, his lip torn to the point of blood and his eyes battered shut. He looked as if he would offer his consciousness to someone far kinder, but those eyes were attentive, however dark they were painted, and they set a gentle gaze upon the Russian's broad shoulders.

"Hello, Ivan…"A low voice cracked, the barer well aware of his unattractive bruises and the stream of blood sitting upon his chin. "I'm sorry…"

"I'm sorry as well, Yao…" The pale man drew nearer to the shattered jewel, almost as if he moved too quickly, the fragments would become even more condescended. "Did Arthur do this to you?"

"Yes…But I think this might be the one time I brought it upon myself."

"Don't say that…" A small bought of noiseless conversation. "Kiku told me what had happened."

"He did?" There was another set of seconds dissolved in painful silence. "Are you going to leave me?"

"No. I'm not…"

Yao wiped a bit of crimson away from his pounding lips. "…Did you know that the day I met you I was contemplating killing myself? I was certain that if our appointment went badly, I would hang upon the tree outside…"

"Yao…"

"I'm beginning to think that I was selfish in not doing so…" A few more tears came from those blackened eyes, welling upon magenta cheeks. "Because now I want you to stay…But you're far too good for me, and I'm certain you know it…Look at me. You don't deserve to be subjected to this sort of relationship, although I'm beginning to love you…"

"On the contrary. I paid for it."

Yao removed crystalline emotion with cautious and stuttering finger blades and regarded his darling Russian.

"You're plenty good enough…But you need to stop smoking opium...It's not good for you."

"I know."

"I have no intentions of leaving…because I love you too. Even if it hasn't been the longest time, I do…and I have."

Moments of quiet tears and a diverted stare.

"I'm sorry I don't know what to say…"

"That's alright…Please come closer."

Ivan listened and Yao stood, wrapping his companion in a ruined embrace while he was donned those strong arms.

"I'm sorry, Ivan…"

The larger had nothing he could say; he only held his bloodied lily still as the most priceless of diamond. His innards were still something well unsettled, thought brushing past the walls of his stomach as sharks with skin the texture of a jagged stone. Those boundaries were littered in tiny cuts, and slowly he would bleed to death. What could he say? Perhaps all his words would simply convert to absolute nonsense. For only a short amount of time, it did not hold pertinence.

Sometimes, words were not cardinal for comfort.

The two stood there and held one another, those moments captured by either party both beautiful and unsettling.

Neither knew what their minds should have contained, but either found home within that embrace,

And the one thing Mr. Braginski was certain of was his return. 


	37. Chapter 37

"…So I'll be going out alone tonight? With who?"

"Don't worry…It's no one unfamiliar. You'll be out with Mr. Jones…He hasn't tried anything, has he?"

"No, not at all…"

"Well good. Probably a decent choice then." The man ate part of his cigarette, ashes drifting away from the tip and falling to their graves upon the small emerald plain beneath either of their feet. He regarded the adolescent inhabiting the space at his side.

Kiku did not tell Mr. Kirkland that he had already gone without supervision before. Of course, he knew where Yao had been at the time in the event something went terribly wrong, but this time, that safety net would be torn through by the predictable knife of risk, and that young soul would be subjected to anything that blond American would have the intent to do.

"…How is Yao?" Arthur broke the silence gathered at around their ears.

"Not well. He's been thinking too often, and now he's simply depressed."

"What the hell has he been thinking of? He sleeps all day. How can that be depressing?"

"I think he's regretting smoking opium the first time…" Kiku could numerate so many reasons why one would feel such overbearing sadness while living inside that hellhole with golden lettering, but he was wary of the man he spoke to.

"Hmm…" And again, private thought brimmed within Arthur's mind, and his mouth stayed sewn shut with black thread.

"Mr. Kirkland, may I go inside? I want to check on my elder brother…"

"It would be best…I wouldn't put suicide past him."

"Thank you."

Kiku rose with all the grace forced into his bones and walked through that tiny sea of emerald blades, leaving his owner behind and at their mercy.

Arthur observed the _kokeshi's_ walk, once again finding heavy desire and admiration within his blood as intoxication. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay within the hands of control, something that once held him as a fantastic lover. He would have strayed from those arms if so much money was not riding upon that treasure's shoulders.

Kiku came to that open door and witnessed the man sitting inside the chamber it led to, his eyes blinded by his thoughts and his mouth slightly gaping. He did not even take notice to the cat resting his head so peacefully upon that knee, purring with the intention of having eyes upon him, yet that attention did not seem to come. The dress Mr. Braginski had gotten him sat upon his lap, and the only other clothing he has was golden flesh and an air of deep contemplation.

"Yao…"

At first, there was not a response from that thoughtful throat.

"Yao, have you been smoking opium? Why are you naked?"

"What?" His glance finally afflicted his counterpart, and those wells filled with himself.

"_Have you been smoking?_"

"No, not yet…I've been trying not to smoke so often…I think I can stop if I slow down…"

"Yao…"

"What is it, Kiku? Do you need something?"

"No…I came to make sure you hadn't killed yourself."

"That isn't funny."

"I wasn't joking."

For a moment, Yao's brow leaned upon the frame of those gorgeous jewels, lips contorting into something dissatisfied. "Just how do you think of me? _I'm not able to watch myself? I'm not allowed to sit within my room and think?_ You look at me like I'm nothing but a burden to you, but I didn't ask you to come into my room and start sighing."

"You are a burden, and if I hadn't come now, I'm certain you would call me later. You ask me in here like your damn servant! The moment you tell me you aren't a burden is the very same day I leave this place!"A moment was used for the configuration of words and breath. "No. You can't watch yourself. You can hardly even bathe without help. You're a child, Yao."

"A child?! Are children beaten for a living? Do they go out every night and remove their clothing for filthy old men they have to _lie to_ for a man who regards them as dirt?!"

"No." The younger crafted his response."But they do have their supervisors clean them and dress them and tidy their room and speak kindly to them when they sob. They also have no regard for those caretakers and how exhausted they make them. The only difference between you and an actual baby if that you smoke opium. You won't grow up…You might as well already be dead."

"_Kiku!_"

"Don't be upset…You lost your temper first."

"So you can say whatever you please to me?! _Who do you think you are?!_ I took care of your every whim when _you_ were small! I saved your feet from bandages and broken bones! I gave you all the help you needed when _I _was busy! How dare you even begin to speak to me that way!" Yao allotted a moment for breath. "So I'm not worth helping? I'm not worth your precious time, occupied by that English bastard drooling all over you? Fine. Then get out." The man held a sharp gaze, butcher's knives sitting within those dark irises. "I wouldn't want you to sacrifice a moment's time on me."

When Kiku did not move, Yao nearly screamed.

"_Get out of my room!_"

And the youth turned and left, his feet dragging him away quickly, fueled mostly by the fire of his growing rage.

It was then that a droplet of hatred was born, all for the man who had loved him and enslaved him.

When Kiku prepared that night, his mind swarmed with all his thoughts, yet his face was calm as a still ocean, all accept for the vibrant feelings burning from his core and into the beautiful eyes. They were illuminated with intensity, all his energy searing holes through whatever he directed his gaze upon.

Some degree of guilt washed through that great stomach clothing that wild storm, because Yao's words had been right, although he could not allow that truth to shine. He had suffocated it beneath his own reasons and upset, unable to concern himself with such an ugly shimmer.

His silks took him as constricting cords, and the beautiful yet resentful entertainer found a route outside, along it locating his British man.

"Kiku, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mr. Kirkland."

"Don't lie to me."

A disgruntled sigh. "Yao and I got into a fight…And are no longer in speaking terms."

"Well…I don't care about that, but I suggest you start pretending to be overjoyed, because I guarantee you, no one pays good money for an upset whore."

"I'm not a whore."

"Of course you are, Kiku. Now shut your mouth before you have to tell Alfred an unfortunate story about how you accidentally tripped and fell downstairs."

"…Yes, Mr. Kikrland."

"Wonderful." A faux grin that sent the boy's foundation into spasms. "Cheer up, sunshine. You've got a profit to earn. Make it worth every last empty section in his wallet."

The youth did not give any word in return, his gaze gravitating towards those feet.

"Come on now…" Mr. Kirkland donated a slap just above the buttocks. "Get going."

And Kiku listened, progressing through the first hell and into another, the second livid with possible fits of rage and definite lies.

"Kiku! Hello."

"Hello, Alfred. How have you been?"

"I've been just fine…How have you been?"

"Just as I always have."

"And how is that?"

"…It's so many things that I'll begin to cry if I speak of it…"

Those blond brows sank and that same sympathetic curl appeared against those handsome lips. "I don't mind erasing a few tears, Kiku."

"Thank you…But I won't allow our time together to be ruined by all my troubles."

"But what if hearing of all your troubles brings me some sort of disgusting pleasure?"

"Alfred…"

"Come on, Kiku."

"No, I can't…"

"Yes, you can…"

Out of impulse and need to change the topic, Kiku pressed his lips softly to the American's, allowing a gentle hand to control that warm shoulder. "No…"

Immediately, an even wider stretch. "Were you allowed to do that?"

"Probably not."

And in response, a pair of hands settled upon the adolescent's flushed ears and the American's affectionate mouth came back into an embrace with the other's, a bit of passion living between their brief clasp.

Kiku moaned softly as their faces fell from one another's and another kiss was allowed softly upon his luminescent cheek.

"Was I allowed to do that?"

"Certainly not."

"Fantastic…Now, why don't you tell me what's been upsetting you?"

A sigh built of frustrated alloy and a light reprimand falling upon the American's chest. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Oh, no. Never."

Kiku allowed a sigh mingled with a hopeful smile from his stifled curls. "Alright. But not here."

There was a nod in reply. "So, where would you like to go?"

"…Would you like to sit in the garden?"

"Of course…" Kiku's hand was engulfed within Alfred's, and paces were completed easily beneath their feet to the heaven beneath that lively tree, the future whore taking his seat first and then his client. Their palms stayed adhered to one another's, fingers kneading kind circles upon opposite flesh.

"Tell me what happened…"

"You and I had a disagreement."

"About what?"

"My care of him…I'm sure you're aware of his opium addiction…and because of it, I've become something of a slave. Today, I came to check on him to make sure that he had not hurt himself…But I told him that I came to check that he hadn't killed himself. Of course, he became upset with me…and I told him he was a burden…That he was like a child…I cannot count the times I've bathed and clothed him."A long set of seconds came wearing great ornaments of silence and embellished robes of short peace. "So…I continued to tell him how irritating he truly was…and he told me that he once cared for me without a single complaint, and it's true. If it wasn't for Yao, I'm certain I would have become someone cold and bitter…I'm already bitter." Another instance of stillness. "But it doesn't seem right that nearly my entire day is centered around taking care of him…That is, when he's not sleeping or unconscious…I do nearly everything for him. And I feel so many times older than I actually am. When the sun goes down, I'm exhausted and my bones feel like they've broken a thousand times over. And it upsets me. Perhaps I wouldn't mind so much if he had survived a horrible accident…But all my energy is gone because he doesn't want to put down his pipe."

"Hmm…" Alfred stole a lengthily amount of time for all his deductions. "I think he does want to stop…Likely more than anything…But addiction is a hard thing to fight and it's often that the addict looses. Yao probably knows he's a burden…And he just as likely feels horrible about his addiction and how it's eating away all of your time. He can probably see exactly what you're going through, but…He really needs your help." Fingers skinned the American's lips. "I think if you found yourself in the same situation, regardless of how much of a burden you were, you would want help as well. You would feel awful for accepting it and draining the energy from whoever was assisting you…But you would still need it…And Yao would definitely help you."

"I don't think he realizes it."

"And I think he does…He really loves you…To him you _truly are_ his younger brother…I was told I'd be in a huge amount of trouble if I even laid a finger on you...And I'm certain that if he witnessed our little kiss, he would tear my head from my neck…Even in the state he's in now."

Kiku allowed his mind to fill with opposing points in that quick time without voice.

"It is an unfair situation…But in the end, you're still family, aren't you? Are even if you are upset with Yao, you still love him."

"No…I don't."

"Of course you do. You're angry, and it's completely normal…But either of you have done quite a bit for one another…And even if you fight and become enraged with one another, it doesn't matter. You're still brothers…And although Yao does have faults, he would never abandon you, or turn you away of you were in need. I know he wouldn't…And so do you. Despite all of his addictions, he's a good companion, and that's the most important quality…Has he ever been cruel to you without a purpose? _Has he truly hurt you?_"

"No…Not truly. He's saved me more times than I can count."

"…I would be angry for a little while, and then apologize. And I'm willing to bet that he'll apologize as well."

"You're right…"

A kiss centered upon that cheek with pliable lips. "Everyone gets frustrated with one another…Just don't wait too long to make it right."

"Thank you, Alfred. You're not nearly as stupid as you look."

A laugh and another slow press. "I know!"

For a moment, they shared their joy, and when they calmed, Kiku's attention escaped to all those wondrous stars bathing in the finest of night.

"…May I kiss you again?"

"Of course…You can do anything you like to me, just as long as it's not painful…Well, Not too painful…No blood…Alright. Maybe a little, but too much. _Well_…Just as long as I don't lose consciousness…for too long."

Kiku laughed. "_Just be quiet!_"

A wide grin and with careful arms, Alfred took Kiku into an embrace and connected their lips together softly, the virgin's eager hands falling upon the charmer's collarbone.

In that very same day, Kiku had tasted hatred and the highest concentration of love he had ever held within his fingers, either different as night and day, yet connected by sugary twilight, and almost seemed as if one had led directly to the other.

There was happiness set within Kiku's blood, as well as the resolve to cure his dispute.


	38. Chapter 38

"So…You're going to be the one who takes the first bite of cake, huh? Well, I must tell you it's nice to negotiate in English for once. Although…" A cigarette found a place between those British lips. "I can't say that I like your accent."

"You don't like anything, do you Arthur?"

"No. Not really." A cloud of spoke wafted from his nostrils and lips, and he did not seem to care. "You've given me quite a bit of money…About twice as much as I make when I usually sell a virgin. Are you sure you don't want to wait? I've gotten a few bids, but…Nothing nearly as high as yours."

"No. I don't want to wait."

"Why? You're giving me fake money?" A grin construed of filth. "Well…I'm not going to complain. He's yours."

"Wonderful."

"Now; how about a date?"

The American thought a lengthily expanse and finally gave his reply. "Two weeks."

"Two?"

A nod.

"Why two?"

"It's a good amount of time…Besides; I'd like to see him before we become intimate."

"Well, I suppose the customer is always right, at least, that's what I'm supposed to say. I think you're a fucking lunatic for not taking him sooner but…I suppose the first time's always special."

"_First time?_"

"Oh? You're not a virgin? Excuse me."

"Even if I _was_ a virgin, I still wouldn't be a rapist. I would much rather be a virgin than a rapist."

"And I'd much rather be a rapist than a virgin. I suppose it all works out."

"…I'm not a virgin."

"No, no, no. I heard you the first fifty times. Would you like a cigarette? It relieves stress, you know…and you look pretty worked up…Are you sure you're not a virgin?"

"I don't smoke."

"Now I'm certain you've never had sex."

The American sighed and the Englishman laughed, a wide smile strewn healthy upon those great and terrible jewels.

"I'm just fucking with you."

There was no reply.

"Well…I've got one more question. And then you can be on your merry way and I can buy something wonderful with all this money…There's no refunds, by the way."

"Of course. I wouldn't expect anything else."

"Great!" A long drag upon that cigarette, and atmosphere stricken by sudden quiet born of heavy thought. "You've ah…" Those thick brows bent beneath the weight of his request. "Look, I'm no good with this whole notion of caring."

"I've noticed."

The British man employed false and mocking laughter; more seconds ticked by within his mind. "…You're going to be gentle with him, aren't you?"

"Yes…Of course."

"Good, because…" A sigh wallowing in troubles. "He's a good kid…"

"Yes. He is. And I'm not going to be rough with him."

Finally, there was only a well contemplated nod.

"So…Can I be on my merry way?"

"Yes. Get out of my sight…Please."

"Of course."

Something within Mr. Kirkland's heart sunk to the bottom if a great sea brimming with unfelt emotions, knowing he could not deflower that treasure himself…And for even a brief moment, he did not want _anyone_ to lie fingers upon that shining jewel. They did not know what they were doing, and would likely cause him more pain than was necessary.

There was something like concern within his stomach…something he had not experienced for someone else in what could have been years.

Mr. Kirkland watched as Alfred left, all his thoughts so brimming with incoherencies, and his tongue tied into a wordless knot.


	39. Chapter 39

"Yao?"

The man in question sat within his chamber, Bái sleeping within his lap and a fingers drifting softly though his pearly fur.

"What is it, Kiku?"

"Can I talk with you?"

"Why? So you can tell me how worthless I am?"

"No…So I can apologize."

At first, no words came from that gorgeous man's mouth, yet his eyes drifted to the foot of that portal, giving Kiku the indication he had been crying.

"Well…come in. Because I want to apologize as well…"

Kiku followed Yao's invitation with his toes, finding things strewn upon the floor he would usually take within his hands and place in their homes…It had only been a few days…

The adolescent took a place upon the bed next to his elder brother, who did not offer attention at first.

"I'm sorry I'm helpless…"Yao began. "Without your assistance, I'm even more of a mess…Just look at my room …You're right. Even though what you said had hurt…You're right. I should work on getting my life back to the way it was…and stop smoking opium; even if it's difficult….I'm not helping anyone, and it's obvious you're suffering because of it."

"I'm sorry, Yao…"

"…Why?"

"Because…I had said some truly awful things, and I didn't mean them…I was just beyond frustrated…and I think you're correct as well…You've assisted me more times than I can count. I should do what I can…If I was in the same state, I'm certain you would help me."

"I would…but I would likely complain about it. You have a right to be upset…I know I'm a pain."

"Well…I can be a pain too."

Yao finally regarded his younger brother and smiled slightly, the cat leaping from his lap and onto the floor, releasing loud complaint.

Either gave small amusement.

"I suppose it's not exciting unless someone is upset."

"…I'm just glad it's not me."

And Kiku was stolen into a pleasant embrace, also allowing one in return.

"Thank you, Kiku."

The Japanese youth did not create words, but offered is response in even tighter arms.

"I love you…"

"I love you too, Yao."

All the guilt that had overtaken the anger within his chest dissolved in amorous acids, and Kiku was granted fantastic relief.


	40. Chapter 40

And again, Hong found himself before the Englishman, this time within the white demon's chamber.

"…Monsieur Bonnefeuille told me to come back…Have you paid this time?"

"Yes. I have."

"Why? You have plenty of other whores lying around. Since when do you ever pay for sex?"

"Since you started talking back. It turns me on, you know?"

Hong made a mask of disgust and wore it closely as his own identity. "No. I don't."

"Unfortunate."

"Why am I really here? Doesn't it bother you that you knew me when I was practically a baby?"

"No; not at all."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Well, it's simple. I thought you would know how it worked by now. I pay you, and you take off your clothes. Easy."

A long sigh holding no words.

"I'm curious; are you this unpleasant with all your customers, or just me?"

"Just you."

"Ah…I'm special then, aren't I?"

"No one said special was a good thing."

"How sassy…Stand up."

Hong did as he was told, regarding his client with eyes dying in exhaustion. "Can I see my brother after this?"

"You can do anything you like…If you do well enough." Mr. Kirkland rose to his feet, coming closer to his paid company and placed his hips inside a sensuous embrace. "Cheer up. We can bother get what we want." A kiss landed as a falling star upon his cheek, leaving certain burn, all while his knots were undone by gentle hands, and all that acquired flesh accumulating against his ankles. "How would you like to be fucked today?"

"How about you make it feel good?"

"You have to tell me what you like."

"…I like it hard."

A laugh and another sear were given to the naked one. "You're a bit wild, aren't you?"

"That's what I've been told."

"Take off my clothes."

The younger did not hesitate with the European man's buttons, observing that scar left so loudly upon once gentle skin. A kiss was placed upon its horrid surface as more clasps were undone.

Arthur's shirt came from his flesh and lips were pressed into the near child's lips, hands traveling along his flesh and slight curves, adhering to his buttocks and pulling either cheek gently from the other.

A moan escaped from Hong's mouth before their lips tied together, no time put to unnecessary death as organs began to intermingle and tangle as ribbon.

Fingers came gently to his opening, a tip slipping inside and teeth allowing no warning clamping upon a bottom lip.

"Ahh…"

"Not yet. Get the oil."

"But you're already fucking open!"

"I don't care." A kiss to apologize for the pain instilled upon such sensitive flesh.

Mr. Kirkland took his hands away from is whore and unbuttoned his own pants. "Well, we'll do that later."

"So what?"

"So suck my cock." The blonde's pants were removed with easy hands, along with his undergarments in something as a hurry, those sunny curls given to the dull and calm light of sunset.

"Well…Look at that." Hong regarded the other's member, already possessed by attraction. "You must really need attention."

"Shut up. I'm surprised anyone pays for you at all."

"Are you?" The Englishman's length was taken by a careful palm at the base and messages slowly as the younger came upon his knees, lips brushing against the tip before either spread and absorbed that hardening extremity.

"Ah…"

And as Hong began to send pleasure all throughout that pale body, the Englishman lidded his eyes and allowed all his fantasies to cloud the air surrounding him. It was no longer that angered boy admitting so much pleasure to his blood, but his sweet Kiku with such hands blessed with great skill and delicate grace; it was his mouth enclosed so easy around that member, and his palm resting so daintily upon his thigh.

Mr. Kirkland could feel himself inside that virgin, fucking him so softly and cautious not to bring him any unnecessary discomfort. _No, Kiku enjoyed it_…Moans would slip from supple lips, parted so widely, as he begged for that Englishman to trust harder, those elegant fingers gripping the sheets beneath him as his wish was granted by the ruler of all destiny.

And such entrance would induce only the purest of ecstasy, unlike any other sensation he had known. That Japanese adolescent would gasp and moan, wrap those attractive arms and legs around the moving form above him, which was so concerned of his enjoyment. He would ask for a kiss, and Mr. Kirkland would oblige him; he would beg for that standing cock to experience touch, and Mr. Kirkland would perform every pleasing action.

And as Kiku caused a mess all about Arthur's white fingers, he would admit feelings of deep and undying love for the man who had stolen so much of his life, and close those beautiful eyes, gasping from his euphoria.

"Mr. Kikrland?"

"What?"

"It seems like you're about to finish soon…"

"Oh yes…Get onto the bed."

His fantasy dissolved in the bitter acid that was Hong's word.

As the whore did as he was asked, the Englishman took a small container from one of his many misplaced drawers, coming back to that lovely body and kissing pretty lips.

"On your stomach."

Without words the younger listened, and only had to wait a short duration of seconds as a well lubricated finger touched so wonderfully against his opening, admitted entrance with a gentle finesse.

"You had sex last night, didn't you?"

"Mmm…Of course I did, you idiot."

Another numeral was inserted harshly, and Hong cried in a potent mix between great pleasure and awful pain.

"We're not going to mouth off again, are we?"

"Ahh…" Those appendages came into a soft alliance and began to scissor, easing slightly that freshly inflicted discomfort. "No…"

"Wonderful…"

Arthur admired his company's body a long expanse, eyes grazing that rounded buttocks and wonderful golden hue, the very same color that his brother held upon his physique. He regarded those slender hips and those creamy thighs, so lost in youth and beauty.

Yet…Kiku's figure was even more attractive, and he would be so much tighter.

"A-ah!"

"Are you ready, Hong?"

"Yes…"

Arthur kept his fingers occupied within his faux jewel and with his free palm applied a bit of oil to his member, coming upon those crisp sheets made only that morning with the intention of utterly ruining them. He loomed on top of the other's body and claimed back his digits.

Gently the Englishman eased himself into his whore's crevice, and with slow hips began to trust.

"Ahh…"

"You like it rough?" Mr. Kirkland had been slightly taken by his pleasure, the effect subduing him as a lazy drug.

"Yes…"

A few more slow pushes came and the pace was put to a quicker rate, a cry tearing form the younger's mouth.

And again, Arthur's mind ran into that lovely wonderland composed of Kiku's body and all its earthly comforts, his waist beginning to move with excess vigor, satisfaction coursing through his veins and his lips slightly parting.

Hong tried not to enjoy the very same sensation, his hands condensing to fists around the bed sheets.

He absolutely hated that man…

Yet, his enjoyment was imminent, and he could hardly stop such feeling from being created.

"A-ah…"

"Do you like this?" Mr. Kirkland asked, sustaining that strong speed and releasing a gasp.

"No…Fuck me harder…"

_Make it hurt. _

The body possessing that golden skinned beauty began to thrust with even more intensity, either party screaming their nerve's reactions without the use of shame.

Hong's mouth widened and the entire room seem to quake, the bed crying loudly, almost hollering in pleasure itself.

"Ah! Arthur! Harder!"

The Englishman obliged his whore, eyes closed and reality draining from all his attention.

And there was Kiku, his legs spread and his hands between those supple thighs, cheeks soaking in all his embarrassment. His tongue came sensually from behind those wondrous petals and a lovely moan filled that gorgeous throat.

He was upon his back; he was upon his stomach; he was inside the Englishman's arms and he was worlds away, pleasure coming at his own discretion.

The ruler of that horrid realm reached for his muse, caressing him, causing him to ejaculate, kissing him, telling him how much he adored his eyes, his face, his body, his very being…How much he needed that incredulous form and soft bottom.

"Ah! Kiku!" Immediately, Arthur Kirkland's eyes came to the one he was truly inside, and he could feel that very body become something tense.

"Ah! Francis!" Hong could play such games as well.

The Englishman did not make reply, only continued to create pleasure with his movements and pressed forward with all the vigor left inside that pale body.

A bit of anger and confusion came as Arthur reached his climax, that white liquid draining with a few slow pumps, and eventually, he stopped, pulling away and taking residence next to his disgruntled company.

"Now I know why you want me…" Hong sat up and laid upon his back, so drenched in Mr. Kirkland's sweat, his eyes tying to the ceiling and his thoughts filling the room as loud and frustrated words. "You're sick, Mr. Kirkland."

"Shut your mouth…" The blond spoke from lack of energy, managing to roll upon his side and press his lips against his whore's as his hand capitulated that still raging member, messaging with the intent of dirty fingers.

He did not have to perform his duty long, his skin covered in the other's seed.

"You really liked that, didn't you?"

"Ah…be quiet."

"Hmm…You're welcome back anytime you want some good cock..." Another deep embrace of the rims.

"Let me see my brother…"

"Do whatever you like."

When Hong's form was allowed back into those lovely silks, and the evidence of pleasure had been dissolved, he came back to his elder sibling's small palace, only to find the master of that realm to have fled.

He returned to Francis Bonnefeuille with a heart sinking into his stomach built of determination.


	41. Chapter 41

"It's so nice to see you again, Vanya…"

"It's nice to be back."

"I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't be, but you're here now…"

Yao held his Russian at an even closer proximity, long desiring that fantastic warmth and wondrous scent. "I had almost forgotten how lovely you are."

"I'm not lovely, Yao."

"Of course you're lovely…You're the most beautiful man I've seen in quite a while, if not the most beautiful in general."

Ivan allowed slight humor. "I love you too."

And a laugh from the donor of that tight embrace. "Oh…Thank you for the dress and the…alcohol. I loved either of them. I just wish you would have told me how strong that drink was…I was stumbling for quite a while until I just gave up and went to sleep." A light bit of amusement and a flirtatious pair of lips. "But I still had fun."

"I'm glad you did…And I would have told you, but…It didn't seem to be the right topic to discuss the last time we met."

"…I'm sorry about that." Those silken limbs allowed that large body to its own discretion. "But I'm feeling much better now."

"It's alright. Like I've said; it can't be all sunshine and puffy white clouds. I don't mind listening to you."

"Thank you, Ivan." Yao observed his feet a short period. "Well, what charming thing have you planned for tonight? I think this is the first time I've seen you when the sun has gone down."

"You don't mind, do you?"

"No, not at all."

"Well, to begin I wanted to give you something. Please close your eyes."

"What is it that you're going to give me?"

"Now, if I told you to close your eyes, why would I tell you what it is, silly Yao?"

"Well, I don't know! Can you blame me for being curious?"

"No, I suppose not…Regardless, you'll have to be blind a little while."

"Alright."

Yao lidded those painted eyes and tried with all the vigor inside that gorgeous form not to grin, His lips retreating into his mouth while his expression became something laughable. Ivan caught joy within those large, yet gentle hands from looking upon such a ridiculous mask and gently placed those wide palms against the shorter man's ears, tilting that visage slightly upward while placing his mouth gently against his subject's. Immediately, the lovely personage offered his affection in return, touching the larger shoulder with amorous appendages and desiring such a fiery closeness.

They did not employ their tongues, nor grasp at one another's clothing, yet it was one of the most pleasurable kisses Yao had received in all those years in the very business of such communities.

As they pulled apart, Yao regarded the captor of his entire soul with rosy cheeks and happy eyes.

"Are all Russians as silly as you are?"

"I certainly hope not. No one would get anything done."

A smile and a crystalline laugh. "Thank you…It's quite possibly the best gift anyone's given me."

A grin drew the edges of Ivan's mouth to his cheeks.

"So…Now what did you have in mind?"

"I have no idea. The kiss was as far as I got."

Another simper from that lovely face."Well…I think I have an idea. Close your eyes."

The taller did as he was told, and without even a moment's hesitation, he was pulled to Yao's level and given another one of those embraces built so heartily of passion, that edition being just as intense as the one donated before.

And when they separated, their arms took the opposite into an embrace, as two magnets grown so lonely for their other.

"Hmm… I really like your lips, Vanya."

"Well, they're yours…"

Yao stayed quite a long moment.

"What is it?" Ivan could hear Yao's very thoughts stabbing through those well formed ears.

"I can't decide my favorite things about you."

"I think I like your hair the most…But it's truly difficult to pick."

"I like you nose."

"_My nose?_" The man who possessed such a feature chuckled. "No one likes Ivan Braginski's nose."

"Well I suppose that makes me no one."

There was a moment occupied by comfortable silence.

"Yao…I like your nose too…"

"Thank you...I like your muscles."

"What muscles?"

"The ones you're holding me with right now."

"…Perhaps we should stop."

"Why?"

"Don't you feel uncomfortable?"

"No…Of course I don't. Didn't I start this whole mess?"

"No. I kissed you first."

"So what? I kissed you back. I'm just as susceptible to blame."

"Well, alright. If you say so."

"_I do say so._"

A slight laugh. "Yao…"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to sit outside again?"

"Yes…I would like that very much…But I think you should know that you're a cheap date."

An even lighter hold and a stomach welling with amusement. "I know I am."

"Well, it's just fine with me."

Finally, they fell from one another, and Yao sat upon the first step to the Pavilion, tapping the place next to him, calling for the Russian's company.

And Ivan took his offer.

"So, Mr. Braginski, where have you been?

"Nowhere. Just inside my thoughts."

"What were you thinking about?"

"You."

"Me? What have you been thinking of me?"

"Well…Not exactly thinking. More like worrying."

Yao did not place words upon the wind for several long seconds. "Worrying?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because of your situation…Please don't be upset."

"Well…what of my situation? Why don't you say more?"

"I'm just worried about your health and about the way that Mr. Kirkland treats you…You don't deserve to be hurt, especially over something so normal…For being upset. It's not as though I was angry with you…It bothered me even more so to see you that way…"

"…There's nothing that can be done about Mr. Kirkland…But I've been trying to stop smoking lately…At least less." There was an expansive sigh. "I need help."

"I'll help you."

"Thank you, Ivan…But I don't know how you can."

They sat in the essence of weighty silence, that very substance crushing them as an insect beneath heavy iron. Finally, the whore allowed his voice to the Russian's willing ear.

"My brother and I got into a fight recently…about my addiction."

"Hmm…"

"We've made up…But I've realized that I'm fairly helpless. I almost believe that I've had too many thoughts lately. I truly want to quit this time."

"You can…I think you just need support…And living here…"

"There isn't a lot, I know. I wish I could see you more often. You shouldn't have to pay if _I_ want your company. If anything, I should pay you."

Ivan leaned over and planted a kiss upon Yao's temple. "Thank you."

And the receiver of that affection smiled. "…You really are lovely, Ivan…"

"Thank you, Yao…" Another kiss. "…Did you know that if our first meeting went badly I probably would have gone home?"

"Why is that? Your Chinese is perfect..."

"Well…I was tired of everyone looking at me like a horrible person just because of my blond hair and light skin…If you rejected me, I'm certain I would have left."

"I love your hair…and your complexion."

"You do?"

"Of course…I've already told you that I think you're beautiful."

"Not beautiful."

"Yes! Beauty can come in any form, even in tall men with wonderful accents and cute noses…Stop arguing with me. Because I think you're gorgeous…And I doubt that you'll be able to change my mind…"

"Well, it must mean something if another gorgeous person said it."

A slight smile and a moment of wondrous quiet, kept in the comfort of the growing love between them.

"I think people simply need to get to know you…If they did, they would adore you…" A few moments of noisy thought. "It might seem odd, but I know exactly how you feel…"

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone knows that I'm a whore…So, they assume the worst about me; that I'm a liar and I'll do anything for money, whether it be taking off my clothes or eating shit. But none of that is true…I just don't have a choice in the matter. No one seems to realize that most prostitutes never wanted to be prostitutes in the first place. We just do what we're told because we'll be beaten if we don't. It doesn't matter who you belong to. You can anticipate bruises and blood if you don't do what is asked of you."

"…What would you want to do?"

"I would want to be a scholar…Or maybe a writer. I'd also like to learn another language, but that seems unlikely…Something intelligent."

"…I'm sorry, Yao."

"That's alright…Would you want to be Chinese?"

"If I could be born that way?"

An affirmative nod.

"No…I like being Russian. It suits me." The large man allowed a ridiculous sort of grin. "Besides, I'm too tall to be Chinese."

"Well…That's probably for the best. I didn't lie when I said it was excruciating. And if you were Chinese, you would be like everyone else…I like you because you're so different. And you're right. You're far too tall."

Lips curling of understanding, and either personage holding a fluttering heart.

"Thank you, Yao…I think we go well together."

"I think we go well together too." A hand rested upon the Russian's knuckles and a kiss came to that snowy cheek. "You won't go running off, will you?"

"No. I highly doubt that I'll run anywhere without you following behind me."

And there was another tinge of adoration set upon that fantastic white skin.


	42. Chapter 42

He looked in upon that sleeping corpse and regarded him as he would when he ate, or sat or thought, or even simply placed breath into those lungs. That date, only about a week away, seemed to cause Mr. Kirkland's sense to meld to an alloy of heavy insanity, his thoughts and actions and his entire universe involving the very image of that untouched chrysanthemum.

It was as living behind a great wall of bars, having the most decadent of food and wine placed just before greedy fingers, yet no matter how one reached and struggled, those perpetual delicacies were never allowed any nearer. There was only a mouth full of bitter dust and a stomach that whined with even more voice.

Yet, Mr. Kirkland was not locked in that taunting cell of desire. He was fully functional of limbs and intellect, but bound ruthlessly by the invisible chains of inevitable protocol. It was far worse than simply not being able to touch delicacy placed right before those senses.

Kiku had taken notice of Arthur's eyes and he had grown weary of those intense green jewels, trying with all the vigor set within his blood to avoid that insatiable gaze. He had known how that man held admiration for him, but it was almost as if something had gone horribly wrong. Even the men he entertained did not regard him with such vision, nearly burning holes within his silks and leaving him with nothing but steaming skin and cheeks seared with rouge.

It was frightening.

Finally, Kiku was approached beneath that tree built of rose; he could hardly contain the sigh welling within his chest as the blond man sat so boyishly at his side.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Kirkland." He did not enjoy these forced pleasantries. "…Have you been troubled lately?"

"Troubled? Why?"

"Because every time I see you, it seems like you're staring at me."

"Oh…" Those thick blond brows seemed to sink beneath their own weight. "Well…" It seemed to be far more difficult in person.

_You love me?_

_You're going to deflower me? _

_You're allowing me freedom?_

"…Alfred has bought your virginity…"

"_What?_ When?"

"Close to a week ago…He's going to visit you tonight, but not for that reason."

"_So why would that bother you?_ Wouldn't that make you happy?"

"No."

"Why?!"

And Mr. Kirkland held the essence of threat within those sharp eyes, but Kiku did not place an attempt at serenity.

"Because I'm worried about you, alright _sweetheart?_"

"_Worried about me?_ That's the funniest thing I've heard yet! _You care?_ Arthur Kirkland _cares?_ Oh my goodness, it's as if the world will end!" Kiku's words landed as acid upon the most innocent of lives.

The younger's face endured a hard reprimand. "Be quiet you ungrateful whore! What did you think would happen?! I'm not made of _fucking _stone!"

"Excuse me, Arthur. I thought you weren't capable of emotion other than rage."

Another brand.

But Kiku did not place voice into his pain; he only smiled, seeming to piece every last broken bit together as the shattered vase that held important word. "I don't know why I hadn't realized it before…"

"What?! Realized _what?!_"

"You just want me for yourself. I see you…Undressing me, touching me…There always has to be someone for Arthur Kirkland. Should I feel fortunate that you're so obsessed?"

A hit that sent him upon those receptive blades of emerald.

"Go ahead you bastard! Hit me! Let Alfred see how you treat me! Mark me with purple and red and pink and any other goddamn color you have hidden in your ugly fists! Let him see so he can touch these shoulders with soft hands and take me like a lover…" The one upon the grass even began to laugh. "You're shit."

The Englishman was taking his breaths loudly, unable to pound those fists into that still gorgeous child.

"Come on! _Hit me!_"

And he could not.

"_Hit me!_"

Instead, Arthur turned away, walking towards that cursed palace, the tears of his broken trinket deep within his ears and digging as talons upon the back of his skull.

His blood was embellished with the most lavish of pain, and it took all he had to keep those few tears locked within his throat and forbidden to the sweet heaven that were those lush eyes.


	43. Chapter 43

Gently, the American's hand pressed softly to his companion's clean cheek. "What happened, Kiku? Did Arthur…"

"We got into a fight…And usually, any fight with Mr. Kirkland involves a few bruises, in the very least."

"Oh, Kiku…I'm sorry."

"…Why? What have you done?" There was a seething lie infecting each of those words.

"Are you upset because I bought your virginity?"

"It's an upsetting event."

"Well…I'm sorry…I thought you would have wanted to have someone you liked rather than some ugly old man…And I'm going to be careful with you…and I'll kiss you…I'll do anything you like."

"Please don't make it seem as though you're doing this for my sake. I had thought our relationship was deeper than this idiotic game of talking and sex."

"It is."

"_Is it?_"

"Is there someone else? God forbid you have a client who actually wants you enjoy yourself…Perhaps it's not all for your sake. I feel more attracted to you every time we speak. But don't you want someone who cares about you for more than just your body? _I do_…It's difficult. Of course it is. But I adore you…Please, don't be so upset…because there has to be a thousand others who would want you just for your flesh…How would you feel then?"

"Alfred…"

A kiss was placed gently top the tip of Kiku's susceptible nose, almost as an offering to a great and mighty god. "I'm sorry Mr. Kirkland has hurt you…But even with these little bruises, you're still beautiful."

"Thank you…"

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes…Please do so gently."

Their lips connected at cardinal parts with a great caution instilled into either participant, the American holding his companion with kindly hands. The tears that boiled so fervently were locked within the youth's throat and kept behind shining windows, and slowly, their embrace grew with passion.

The Japanese Adolescent's mouth parted slightly, allowing Alfred's tongue the entrance it was nearly begging for, and gently, those blushing organs slid past one another in pleasurable unison, while Kiku's arms slept against the other's welcoming shoulders.

He felt truly as a whore, allowing such graces at such an easy rate, but did it truly hold pertinence? In numbered days, he would belong to the other and that would be all there was.

Something within that moment had been correct, regardless. Despite Kiku's blatant upset and opinions built with steel blades inside them, Alfred still regarded his troubles with all the acceptance and adoration he always had.

He _was_ glad that there was such a personage who would treat him with gentle touches, and that obviously valued him more for that simple figure and supple features.

When their kiss ended, they stayed connected as two sections of heavily intertwined ribbon, their arms catching each other within a warm embrace, and their orifices touched softly within a warm kiss.

"Thank you, Kiku."

There was not an answer produced, only a blond held with even more amorous intent. "Will you kiss me that way when we come together?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

A few fingers touched gently to that radiant collarbone and Kiku lidded his eyes a long moment, falling victim to that lovely embrace.

"You're alright, aren't you?" A hand connected to Kiku's back.

"No…I'm tired...Mr. Kirkland won't allow anyone their own life, sometimes it's difficult not to be depressed. But I'm certain you were already aware of that. It's a hard fact not to know…"

"I'm sorry, Kiku." Another touch was placed upon that ink coded brow.

"Can we lie down?"

Because of Kiku's writhing upset, Alfred was simply allowed into his chamber, and found him sitting upon the floor with his mind full of overtaking thoughts that welled from him as liquid diamond from a shattered fountain.

"Would you like to sleep? We still have to have our contest…"

"Yes. Let's have a sleeping contest…Do you promise that you won't cheat?"

"Of course. I won't cheat."

"Thank you…I've lost all my energy with being upset…"

"That's alright."

The Japanese youth collapsed into the sheet's loving hold first, and then shut those sagging eyes, soon finding himself surrounded by a radiating body as gentle kisses were donned in healthy amounts to his sleeping skin. He turned towards that form, lips bonding to his and a sweet embrace was birthed.

"Thank you, Alfred..."

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Because you're kind."

Another shameless kiss.

"Thank you…I'm sorry that this hasn't been the most pleasant of visits."

"That's alright…I'm quite comfortable."

"Hmm…"

Kiku allowed his eyes to shut and sold his consciousness for a ticket to the land of dreams and vibrant colors, all within the warmth and sun of the American's arms.


	44. Chapter 44

Arthur and Kiku did something of making up. There was a not a true apology from either party, but familiar words poured from either set of worn lips, and a kiss was donned upon the Japanese adolescent's cheek in a kind of blackened remorse. Mr. Kirkland did not mind spending all his hours locked in anger, but he could not stand others having such emotion towards him too long.

And just days before Kiku took that fatal visit with Alfred; he found himself standing inside that concentrated haven of the Englishman, wearing a fine new garment of silk and a twisted expression composed of a thank you and slight confusion. He was wrapped in blushing red, bright as the sun itself.

And Arthur found his gaze adhered to the figure caught within his web, ready to move as an agile spider in the heat of a kill.

"Thank you, Mr. Kirkland…This is quite comfortable."

"I'm glad you like it so well. Would you like to sit down?"

"Oh…Alright."

Kiku placed himself upon those crisp sheets and sat politely and patiently as a doll left upon a shelf, waiting for his company to join him.

Something within his stomach was writhing in imminent concern, this scene hiding truths beneath that odd grin Arthur wore and the very sleeves built to cover Kiku's limbs. It seemed as though Mr. Kirkland's intentions were buried deeply beneath an entire sea, his knowledge knowing the value of gold, and just as difficult to resurface.

Arthur stole a place next to his boy and brushed his hand gently with his own, a touch welling with affection pressed against his cheek and those lovely blackened pearls seemed to dull with the upset of concern, the flesh beneath them illuminated and nearly set the entire room to flames.

That pretty neck only moments from his fingers…and that slender waste.

Another press.

"Mr. Kirkland…"

That voice so built with the essence of sweet honey…

Lips holding to reddened flesh.

Kiku turned to meet his admirer with serious eyes, but only managed to have his mouth caught by another, and a careful palm to sit without so much as an alert upon his neck.

Immediately, he pulled from that kindly embrace.

"…Mr. Kirkland, I'm still a virgin…"

Yet, it was as if those heavy words weighed the same as small feathers, and fabric was pushed easily from Kiku's shoulders by skillful fingers and a willing owner, leaving pale hues to nourish the Englishman's starving eyes.

"Mr. Kirkland!"

There was quiet found in an aggressive mouth puncturing Kiku's innocent lips, a tongue finding refuge inside that succulent cavern, the subject taking his space by pulling from that passionate pair of mounds. A slap was delivered as soon as they separated, and Kiku knew there would be no struggling in the arms of Arthur Kirkland.

They stared at each other several weighty moments, and with stealthy numerals, the Englishman continued to pull away the layers adorning that fantastic body.

They fell as a great and loud puddle beneath him and his back was pressed so sensuously to the surface of the bed, emeralds rolling over each blossoming feature, so gorgeous within that dull light. A pair of fingers took one of those pink buds with the intention to pluck it causing the owner to cry.

"Mr. Kirkland, please stop…"

But those pale appendages could not. They only settled upon those supple hips while a tongue slid upon that hardening flesh, the very same edition the man had just touched.

"Mr. Kirkland…"

"Shut up. You're going to like this."

That pink organ slipped back and forth upon that skin, causing the owner pleasure he did not wish to own, and upper teeth clamping to a lower lip, keeping each noise inside that pained mouth.

"Please stop…"

A battered hand came to that delicate shoulder and the Englishman suckled upon Kiku's nipple, careful not to draw upon those nerves too intensely.

His eyes closed.

No, no, no…This was Alfred. _This was not Mr. Kirkland. It was Alfred Jones and they were in love._

For a short period, Arthur stopped and sat up, taking his virgin with him.

"Sit on my lap."

Kiku secured flesh within his mouth, trying to contain his blatant upset.

"Sit on my lap and take off your clothing."

The youth removed himself from the bed and slipped away those scarlet covers, sorrow beginning to descend upon his visage as a great rain to dry land, yet he would not allow his lips to contort as they wished to, his bite still holding those quivering piles.

Again, eyes found warmth upon those dainty shoulders and shapely back side, peachy skin and beauty, so lost inside that unfettered youth.

"Come sit on my lap…"

Finally, compliance was given, and Kiku returned to that suddenly horrid bed and sat upon Mr. Kirkland's thighs, his heart welling within his stomach. A hand was admitted to his member, yet did not move or offer pleasure, only remained as a mouth pressed so willingly to his collarbone.

"You're getting firm."

A sharp cry inhabited the once peaceful air.

"It's alright if you like this…You're supposed to." A light draw upon that sensuous neck. "No one is going to judge you if you moan…"

"Mr. Jones will."

Another bite and a well earned sob.

"That's enough talk of him." That palm overtook the younger's cock and began to stroke, causing more silent tears to break upon that still shimmering face.

"Why are you doing this?" Kiku asked silently, fighting the blood that so forcefully accumulating between his legs.

Naturally, an answer did not come, only an orifice sampling his sensitive throat while fingers offered horrid throngs of unwanted enjoyment to his growing length. A cry was murdered; tears were placed behind eyelids, and the virgin, so lost in a forest of terrible thought with all his emotion represented about his flesh, had never felt more like a child, seeming to understand his entire conception of the universe set so conveniently around him. Four walls ripped the breath from his very chest, even as he savored it, and he was abandoned to his nightmares, half the soul he would have been, and unable to fight that beast's appetite and busy numerals.

"Why don't you stop? You had money set on this…"

And it was as if all his senses had been taken and kept far from his body, his form left only to its occupation; all his sordid needs and his entire hunger built of greed and desire held beneath a weak net for so long.

"You had set money on _me._"

But again, the child's upset reasoning had falling within a deafened ear.

Mr. Kirkland allowed his mouth to the flesh he had just converted to purple, allotting for an occasional lick. He was ignorant to the state of Kiku's emotions, simply aware of the state of his innocence, soon to be reaped for himself. There was definite plan within his mind, and even the welling of tears could not disrupt his fantasy, now especially strong within his dead set imagination.

A few more gentle touches arrived to Kiku's engrossed organ, and a bit of discharge leaked upon Mr. Kirkland's festering numerals.

The youth had nearly broken all that horrid silence with his sobs.

"Be quiet." A kiss upon that shattered flesh bound by bruise.

"Please Mr. Kirkland…Alfred will be so disappointed in me."

A powerful reprimand to the jaw. "What have I told you of speaking about him? Go into my drawer and bring me a small container."

Kiku swallowed each of those emotions, the remainder draining along his burning cheeks, already embellished by the corpses of previous feeling.

"Come on. Go."

Kiku managed a momentary escape from that ever possessive lap and created a lazy path to those many drawers, all stacked so pretentiously amongst one another. He pulled upon the handle of the upper most container and removed a small cylinder sitting ominously within the bottom right corner, his eyes coming to it as a moth to a great flame, this small thing kept so heavily within his palm the bane of his very existence. He looked back to the man who would bring assistance to that death, who was preoccupied with removing his own garments. Kiku took notice of his healthy arousal, so framed with a shining patch of gold. Perhaps he would have been fascinated if he wasn't so shaken.

And the Japanese beauty returned, allowing the item to the Englishman's grasp, his eyes sitting against that enlarged member and the container allowed to the bed's wavering surface.

"Get onto your knees."

"But Mr. Kirkland-"

A hit placed upon his opposite cheek, and the orders were followed out, those knees pressing into the floor and faced with that screaming appendage.

"What do you want me to do?" And Kiku gave what little determination he had to the clutches of surrender.

"I want you to stroke it."

The dying _kokeshi _submitted, allowing his fingers around the base and slipping his palm along the shaft, just as his owner had demanded and done for his slave.

Something within Kiku expired, and he could not reclaim it, no matter how his nails dug into that stiff ground. It was as though that remaining innocence had been tossed without regard or even concern into a monstrous fire, and was never to be located again, not even within the ashes. He could carry those sad remains inside a blackened urn, and shape each grey fragment into the very thing he had lost, but once it had been devoured by those relentless flames, there would truly be nothing left.

As Kiku messaged, fragments of his soul leaked upon his visage, although his expression did not alter and cries no longer tore painfully from his throat. His hand simply preformed the occupation set upon it, his unused palm finding location upon his owner's hip, eyes lost within those blurred curls of gold.

He could have had Alfred…It would likely be close to the same, but as so many other things about that beautiful foreigner, completely original.

"Put that in your mouth."

But simply, Kiku regarded his captor with his drowning sight, his lips slightly parted and his face bestowed with utter pain, although it was kept under a thin veil of serenity. Yes, something within that very soul had been cremated, burned alive by the man who intended to sell its very death. Immediate guilt shot Mr. Kirkland within his core, not desiring the very tears he had evoked.

"Come on, Kiku…"

With his eyes still focused upward, he allowed that head within that silky crevice the blond man had dreamed about, and began to draw upon it lightly. Mr. Kirkland took no qualms in adopting ignorance, ridding his vision of all it had to take around it and letting himself into that brief haven he had chased so long.

Kiku's hand still moved and his mouth continued to work, tears still gathering and conspiring.

"Ah…Kiku…"

How had be wanted to bite; to tear that member from Arthur's torso so it would never damage another.

Yet, he could not…He did not want another aimless beating piled upon that mass of broken skin, all accumulated from the years long dead.

"A little harder."

And Kiku listened, his face well marred.

"Ahh…Harder."

Orders were followed.

A hand pressed against the youth's silken hair, fingers curling and shifting through those beautiful strands gently.

And after a long expanse, Kiku ceased, his mouth holding nothing.

"Get on the bed."

A body fell upon that surface, its back willowing upon those frothy sheets.

"Mr. Kirkland, please don't do this."

But again, that man was blind, deaf, and severely dumb.

Arthur's body mounted Kiku's, their lips melding together softly. That English tongue dipped inside the younger's mouth, mingling with the resident inside, although the very tenant was stricken lethargic.

"Kiku…"

A rough hand collected all of those coming tears and came to that container, attending their presence so quietly upon the bed. Its innards were allowed to the air and a bit of that oil soaked an index finger, pressing gently to the adolescent's sensitive opening.

"You're going to have to relax, Darling."

"Please don't call me that."

A gentle kiss, as if he had said nothing of recent offense. "Pull your legs back a little bit."

More lubrication overpopulated that finger and slowly dug a tunnel inside the receiving end, causing cries of blatant displeasure to code the air.

"Please! Take it out!"

"Kiku-!"

"Please…" And more emotion in the form of crystals.

"Listen to me. You need to relax…If you don't; it's going to hurt far more."

Kiku simply closed his eyes and allowed his sobs, Mr. Kirkland slowly beginning to wriggle that awful appendage.

"Please…Stop."

Another numeral found a way inside, slowly beginning to scissor that opening wider and draw more cried from those innocent lips, that very purity melting inside his upset middle.

"Shh…" Arthur pressed his lips so softly to his counterpart's, easing such pains only minimally. "It's alright. It only hurts once…"

"Please stop…"

Yet that hand did not cease its horrid actions, fingers widening that little space and making room for a third digit. More oil found those tips and another addition was set with the small collection.

The boy abandoned his protest, only accepting those awful fingers within him and allotted more of that stabbing pain to come upon his face.

After a few moments, those small limbs were claimed and that odd substance was spread upon Kiku's widened flesh, as well as Mr. Kirkland's cock.

Nothing was spoken as the blond lowered himself into that broken doll, causing those once virgin hands to hold to his shoulders, a scream pulling from his disgruntled throat.

"Please be gentle…"

"Of course." Their lips met once again, and for the first time, Arthur placed a thrust into those pale hips, sending all kinds of fetid sensation to the bottom vessel.

Yes, he had died then, that struggling life left with a gash upon its throat and a puddle of blood beneath its dull corpse. Kiku held the ashes of his dead innocence, and he observed with those black eyes so full of loss.

"Ah…" And upon the opposite side of that great brick wall, Arthur felt nothing but ecstasy, even though he faced those watering eyes and saddened lips. He watched as his chrysanthemum died, and watched as his own palm shredded those helpless petals without remorse or even recognition of what he had indeed done. Guilt should have been present, having torn something so incredibly beautiful asunder, but it was not. Mr. Kirkland's nerves were far too overwhelmed with his satisfaction, all taken from the crying child's discomfort.

"Ah…Kiku."

As Arthur moved his hips, Kiku accepted his loss and gripped those beaten shoulders, the very same set Yao had broken so many years before. His nails sunk into that canvas, and he cried, eyes shut to the man who had taken so much from him.

There was something as rancid as pleasure buried beneath all that writhing, yet Kiku did not want even a tinge of that so desired feeling, sought by a great many. He desired pain. Because in no way should he find pleasant sensation from this experience, especially now that there was no claiming what was taken from that sacred pedestal.

As Arthur sunk in, protest came from the Japanese youth's mouth, and even more flowing from his distraught lips.

"Ahh!" He found it difficult to be so gentle. "Ah! Kiku!"

Naturally, the boy did not make response, only marred those shoulder blades with his uncontrollable claws. His eyes shut tightly, trying to create the image of any other, yet it proved to be ineffective.

Mr. Kirkland also became blind to all he had brought. It did not have a place within his fantasy, yet the world inside his vision was stuck inside those emerald marbles. He only wanted to see that beautiful face in the utmost of pleasure, each thrust bringing him a loud moan, his name dripping from that honey coded mouth.

"Ah…Kiku…Say my name."

"M-Mr. Kikrland…"

"A-ah! No…Not that one."

"A-Arthur!"

"Ah! Louder!"

"A-Arthur!"

More thrusts and even louder noises of evident euphoria.

"Arthur!"

"Kiku!"

All of that disruption brought attention, as well as numerous witnesses; few had past and regarded that scene through the small crack set between the door and frame, one of those spectators being Yao.

His elegant fingers sat before his lips, yet, he could not interrupt the scene. Those cries brought sickness to ring about his blood, and he could only stand and watch, frozen as a child caught stealing.

So many thoughts coursed through his mind, and he walked along those halls, his stomach set into the embers of hell.

"Ah! Kiku!"

"Ar-Arthur!"

The Englishman finished, holding the corpse beneath him with those lips and arms. Arthur's seed drained within that battered shell, and slowly, he pulled away.

"Ah…"

Kiku only wiped those clinging emotions away.

"I love you."

"Please don't say that."

"Kiku…I love you."

"Please don't say that."

And something inside that barren heart expired as well, what little growing life there was caught in the ground dying within the long drought.

"I'm sorry…"

There was not a reply.

Arthur left the room after fabrics adhered to that moistened body, and he sacrificed his shivering doll to all his emotion, and the darkened state of that out of place chamber.


	45. Chapter 45

Kiku found himself within the kitchen and held a knife absently inside his palm. It was sheathed in handsome leather and would fit so perfectly against his thigh, not too large to poke from his robes, yet not too insignificant to cause little harm or biting laughter.

Gently, he removed that great blade from its case, regarding its shining exterior and touching the tip gently to the pattern within his index finger, a drop of blood filling those miniscule lines and pooling near the small incision. A miniscule river formed and began its long decent along the rest of his fingers. The knife had the appearance of something quality and unused, the insides of animals not yet mangling the beautiful steel, and it held just the right shape and length to bring extensive damage to the flesh of the unfortunate.

Kiku placed that weapon back inside its home and tucked within the breast of all those gentle and flowing robes, determined never to let such injustice cripple those once strong shoulders a second time.

He would not allow his body to be taken without his consent. The moment any man undressed his most private of areas, they would be left heavily scathed.

The events of the evening before replayed about his mind as a swarm of angered bees and screaming the same message inside his vexed ears, fetid memories flooding his contemplations as immigrants all shoved upon a stinking boat to the same place, and he was lost within that unavoidable crowd, ready to scream and scratch his way from that mighty and inevitable trap.

Questions screamed with just as much misanthropy.

_Why did you stay?_

_Why didn't you run? _

_Why didn't you fight?_

And Kiku did not know why his feet had been so set in marble.

Perhaps it was the simple truth that he did not know how to evade that Englishman, so many years wasted beneath his weighty and forceful thumb…It did not seem like an opinion, or even a thing to be put into the kindly arms of unused consideration. The thought that had never even entered his mind, so overpopulated with troubling fragments.

Kiku's emotions had momentarily drained, and he was left only with his reason, that very logic taking the shape of a blade, kissing so sweetly to his chest.

And the boy went upstairs, his face lost for its light and replaced by simple and dark emptiness.

He came to his room and sat against that comforting wall, his face searching that ceiling in desperation for an answer to hover before his fingers, so stolen of all their previous content. As so many other times, he requested freedom, but found himself caged beneath another wall, the very one he found all his questions smashing into.

Something within him had been broken, and he could only regard the remains of that once beautiful vase with silent eyes and a loud heart.

Water gathered against his vision, although he felt none of the causes that had brought it. Perhaps they conspired because they were supposed to form in such groups, or perhaps he so desired all the emotion Mr. Kirkland had robbed him of.

But regardless of reason or even need, they came, each droplet seared a path along his cheeks in all their supposed passion, yet his face did not convert of the discomfort they were meant to represent, and his mouth did not release any noise of his internal writhing.

His attention did not even move when the screen clicked open and his elder brother stood at the very portal that once separated that universe from his own lost and buzzing world.

"Kiku…Are you alright?"

There was nothing.

"…I heard about what had happened…I wanted to check on you." Naturally, Yao would not tell his sibling of the images that had so filled his mind and shook even his configuration.

Again, no noise came from the shattered child's mouth.

"…Kiku?"

Finally, the Japanese adolescent turned his burning sight towards the whore, and Yao could see the tears lying upon his face, the death of a life bringing another two into creation.

"Oh, Kiku…"

Yao wasted no time getting upon that plain and wrapping his arms around his troubled sibling, the emotion left so unfelt finding easy refuge within his stomach and causing a knot life within his throat.

"I'm so sorry…"

And then, all the feeling that had been temporarily numbed hit as a mallet to his susceptible chest, and a loud sob tore from the point of impact.

As his subdued state slowly fell away, Yao placed gentle kisses upon his brow and stroked through that lovely and short hair, his unused limb holding the jewel's shoulder blades as best it could.

In utter understanding and shared pain, Yao began to cry as well, remembering every last time the same crime has been committed upon his corpse, and his heart had been torn asunder in the very same fashion. It was difficult to put beneath that thickened skin, and a stubborn knot to swallow; the sort of wound time can continuously heal, yet by the end of all those sullen bandages and lost hydration, there would always be an ugly scar to represent to the entire world and all its judgmental glory.

"I'm so, so sorry…"

Yao's fingers brushed a strand of those dark locks behind the younger's ear and placed another kiss upon his troubled brow.

As Kiku seemed to calm, he regarded his counterpart with matching eyes, either of them managing to eat that grainy dish of suffering.

"I'm sorry, Kiku."

"It's alright…"

"No, it's not…It's never alright…I hate Mr. Kirkland for all he's done. I'm sorry that there was nothing I could do…That's not how things should be, but they are…And it's unfortunate."

Again, Kiku's eyes filled, and Yao took the excess upon his finger blades.

"I love you, Kiku…I hope to every last deity that you find a way out of this horrible place."

"…I love you too…" The elder was taken into an even tighter embrace. "I love you, Yao…"

"Thank you." Another press was donned to that forehead.

They must have held one another for what could be counted as hours, and when words found life inside that wasteland of imminent silence, either moved into Yao's room so he could prepare for another customer, all of Kiku's rage and heart pouring from his mouth as a great fountain in angered and buzzing sentences.

And Yao listened, understanding with his core each and every syllable.

Either heart was fragmented when the lovely man went to perform that rancid duty placed so forcefully upon his back.

Kiku was allowed only a good-bye and another gentle press given to sit upon his pallid cheek.


	46. Chapter 46

Kiku was held gently within those arms, and all the emotion falling so bitterly taken from those lovely cheeks.

"I'm so sorry…He told me to come visit him and then he just took my clothes off. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't…There was nothing I could do…"

"It's alright, Kiku…"

And the youth simply took his time with each emotion.

"…Are you angry with me?"

"No. Not at you. But I want to beat Arthur's face in…That's disgusting. Was he at least gentle with you?"

"Yes…I believe so." The only knowledge left to Kiku's fingers was the pain which was given to him with such ease.

"Oh, Kiku…"

"I'm sorry…"

"It's alright." Alfred allowed his mouth against that cheek and wiped away more of those droplets so composed of upset. "Please don't be upset…"

"How can I not be? I was looking forward to being yours..."

"You were?"

"Yes…Perhaps I wasn't thrilled in the first place, but when I was given time, I began to like the idea…"

"Well, I was looking forward to it too…" Another embrace of adoring lips. "I'm sorry, Kiku."

The boy allowed a long exhale and seemed to calm, kissing his American back. "I love you, Alfred."

Shock came to the blond man's stomach, and then a smile stamped upon his lips, which briefly came to his companion's mouth. "I love you too."

"Thank you…I love you."

"I love you."

They stayed in silence a certain duration, and in that time Alfred donated another few touches. "Kiku?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too…" Sad laughter erupted from that heavy chest, and Kiku allowed his orifice to Alfred's. "I'm sorry…and I love you."

Something within that phrase tasted fantastic upon the tongue, its flavor sweet and sour and spicy all at the very same instance. Perhaps it had such wonderful appeal because it was not a lie. So many times, Kiku had found himself saying a plethora of things he would never truly intend, sometimes even to his elder brother, so wrapped in his own world of damage. And with each untruth a small part crumbled away from his very being, left dead and decrepit upon the soil, and springing to ask with each rancid word.

But now there was a sort of purity created upon those fingers, and it shone with gorgeous light and healed all those awful incisions left by the past phrases; all his festering wounds were wrapped in the most comfortable of gauze. Kiku was left a recovering leper, and despite all his heart break, he had never felt such emotion.

"I love you…"

"I love you too."

And softly, their mouths connected, tongues gently embracing and hands gripping gently upon opposing garments. That bit of passion after all that horrid ache…It was the first time Kiku had fallen into the depths of love's boundless generosity, and never before had he felt such euphoria.

As their ribbons tied together in such friendly movements, some of the affliction burned away inside their passion, and he was allowed his entire amour toward his very own American.

"I love you…"

But this time the blond did not answer, only committed to kiss the other with a needy mouth.

And their faces fell from one another's; their eyes created union and although the Japanese youth's wells were brimming with red, no miscommunication lied inside those jewels.

Gently, Kiku took Alfred's palm and pressed it upon his chest, grown to flames in all their actions, and their faces met softly. Alfred gently pushed the fabric from his shoulder, but Kiku did not ask him to cease.

"Are you certain…About all this?" The American's voice came out kindly, and those fresh lips just as compliant.

The younger did not draw words from that growing cluster caught within his stomach and mind; instead his fingers took the buttons upon the other's vest and set either side free from its obligation.

"Perhaps it won't hurt so much…Now that the worst has come. I still want you…But please be gentle with me."

"Thank you, Kiku…" More soft tinges came and either continued to lose their garments.

Kiku did not know what he had felt for sex, but he was not willing to never allow his lover that body which everyone desired so heavily. His wound had taken it's time to heal, although his heart was left with numerous bruises, which unfettered adoration slowly began to mend.

As gentle pushes affected the younger's form, moans traveled from his throat so drowned in pleasure to the air. Some amount of discomfort had come, but was overtaken by the pleasure afflicting every last nerve.

When either finished, more communication of the tongue was given, and another long exchange of affection. They lied next to one another for what felt as an entire lifetime, lips pressing so sweetly and fitting together with such ease.

"I love you."

"I love you too."


	47. Chapter 47

"Hello, Mr. Braginski."

"Hello, Yao."

Either held wide grins for the other to take.

"I trust you've come to speak with me."

"Most certainly."

"And I trust that the box within your hands is for me?"

"Again, most certainly."

"Well, wonderful…Although you never had to get me anything."

"No…But I like to."

Within those palms sat a small container bound by fine red string; its color a rich black hue and its very appearance a great of wonderful things to be expected. The package was offered to the man it truly belonged to, who took it with grateful and anticipating fingers, wearing another grand smile written so carelessly about his face.

"Thank you. May I open it?"

"Of course! Please do."

Careful numerals took away that small bow those enormous hands had managed and Yao removed the face of that fantastic container, finding within that bed the most gorgeous string of fat and healthy pearls he had ever seen, each gleaming within the dull light and their flesh set to a luminescent type of vanilla. Those lovely bulbs became littler near the clasp, and the one set within the middle nearly the size of a quail's egg.

"Oh Ivan…I can't accept this."

"Why not? I bought it for you…"

"I know…But this must have cost at least one fortune, quite possibly two…I would feel guilty taking it."

"Please…I'd really love for you to wear it…Perhaps a reminder of me when I'm away…Whatever you want it to be. You like it, don't you?"

"I adore it! But…It's almost too beautiful."

"Then it should match you perfectly."

"Oh, Ivan…"

"Please, Yao..."

"Are you certain?"

"The most certain I've ever been."

"_Well…_"

The Russian lifted his right brow.

"Alright…Fine. But you should know I feel horrible accepting it."

"Well…I feel horrible giving you something you feel horrible accepting. Let's just feel horrible together."

"Alright, Mr. Braginski. Thank you…Would you like to feel horrible in my room? I need a mirror to put on this necklace."

"I'll put it on for you."

"That's very sweet…But I can't ask for anything more. I should be carrying you around at this point…So, please…" Yao gently held the other's hand. "Come with me."

Ivan smiled, becoming something of a sucker for that beautiful face. "Alright…Let's go feel horrible in your room."

"Fantastic! I love to feel horrible in my room!"

"And what's feeling horrible without company?"

A pretty set of joy and shifting feet.

They moved past each of those steps, speaking and laughing together as that 'horrible' feeling spread about their frames. They connected palms and drew attention and brought gossip, but either had forgotten themselves, and slowly remembered as they came to Yao's room.

Upon entrance, Yao came to that mirror and took the article from its coffin, allowing it life within that dull light and giving that great set of pearls a place upon his slender neck. His companion came behind him inside that faux universe, helping with that tiny clasp.

"Thank you…Although I told you I didn't want your help." Yao made accusation with a grin.

"I know you didn't…But I don't really care."

Amusement was released and bliss came as a kiss fell against a crown.

"You're too kind, Vanya…"

"This looks nice on you…" Those anomalies, so large yet so gentle, touched the pearls softly, a bit of flesh contacting the lovely man's collar bone. "Do you like them?"

"Yes…I love them." Yao's palm touched to the other's knuckles and their fingers intertwined, fire growing within their stomachs as the smallest ember causing the largest of catastrophes.

Another kiss came, and the gorgeous man did not stop himself from turning, allowing that pale limb back to its owner and melding their lips together. It was a soft sort of press, not yet involving tongues, but comprised of so much passion either body could burst.

And as they pulled apart, their eyes connected.

"Why don't you sit upon the bed, Vanya?"

Those hands held either cheek and mouths came into brief conversation. "Whatever you like."

The Russian left his darling alone, lowering his body upon that mass of misplaced sheets and waited patiently for Yao's company.

Each ornament was removed from that gorgeous mass of ebony hair and placed near the owner's feet in a polite pile. When that flowing cascade had been freed, Yao came back to his lover and sat upon his lap, one leg placed at either side of those burly thighs. Their faces came to a comfortable proximity and Yao's hands rested upon those muscular shoulders, right hand sketching fire along that pallid neck.

"I love your body, Ivan…"

"Thank you. Yours is nice too…"

Yao smiled and placed his lips against the pair before him, palms securing his hips and orifices beginning their acquaintance. Yao did not fight when a tongue licked his lower mound, only allowed it easy entrance to embrace his own organ.

Those residents slid past one another, and their form drew closer, passion screaming from loud hearts.

A small moan came as the Russian's edition prodded a little deeper, and that intense argument ensued. Pleasure past between tongues as they twisted around one another, Ivan's hands gripping onto wonderful silks and dragging the wearer of that faux skin even closer.

When they claimed their ribbons back, their lips stayed connected for several small pecks, and gently, Yao bit upon the Russian's lower lip, producing a slight laugh.

That nip gave way to a short vacuum and separating pop.

"Thank you, Yao."

"Of course, Darling." One of those weighty palms was led to the whore's tempting shoulder, and the bit of silk residing there was pushed away. Touch settled upon naked skin and Yao loosened his robes with excess vigor.

As their mouths met again, Ivan's thumb settled easily upon a nipple, creating a pleasant circle and admitting another happy whine to the lovely man's orifice. In a moment of bonding, Yao's palm kissed the back of Ivan's well admired hand, and their kiss grew with even more adoration; a fire threatening to devour and an entire edifice, yet the two arsonists too far gone to actually escape.

As the Russian caught the whore's tongue between his lips and drew upon it gently, those careful fingers began to unfold garments. Yao assisted his lover by loosening snags at awkward places, those expensive fabrics drifting to the floor as if they were the cheapest of rice paper. Neither party could differentiate.

Yao claimed his mouth a moment and loosened that plethora of buttons sitting upon the opposite's blouse, freeing that milky skin to the sensuous light of evening, so bathing the room inside that sweetened luminescence.

A kiss was offered, and the Chinese man slipped away from that so loved body, coming to the chest upon the floor and claiming something from it.

"Take off your clothes, alright?"

"Certainly."

As the Russian shed the rest of those troublesome garments, Yao returned to his side so faithfully, pushing him with play back upon the bed, and observing that impressive length. The container freshly plucked from its home was given new custody.

Again, that lovely figure came upon the larger man's thighs and stole one of those powerful hands, placing it against his buttocks and brining that very owner into a passionate embrace of tongues, a palm sinking toward his slightly engrossed member.

"Aah…Yao…"

The lid was nearly torn from that cylinder, and two fingers bathed inside those pleasant innards, then kissed so softly to Yao's opening.

"Ah…" The slender man moaned into their pact of lips, parting those petals even wider as a finger found easy passage into his form. "Ivan…"

Noises of sugary conviction came from connected mouth as either pleasured their lover, tongues melting together as the hottest of metals and creating an alloy made so beautiful, resembling the purest of silver.

Yao cried as another numeral joined to its companion and began to scissor, their kiss shattering from simple distraction.

"Ah! Ivan!"

"Yao…" The Russian pressed those affectionate lips to his jewel's cheek, so lost inside the possession of rouge. "I want you."

The beautiful man did not reply, only acquired a portion of that oil upon his fingers and spread it along his partner's cock, their lips mating a final duration.

Slowly, Yao lowered himself upon his counterpart's lap, that length filling him completely as a loud and shameless moan filled his mouth as well as the atmosphere sitting so absently around them.

"Ahh! Vanya!"

Something was expelled in pleasant Russian, and those fingers held to the smaller man's waist, waiting in patience as that exalted form began to shift.

Yao rose and fell upon that warm lap, lovely mouth widened by pleasure and adjustment. He had hardly encountered someone who could fill him so completely and offer such satisfaction.

A soft kiss sought his golden neck in a moment of frozen bliss.

"Ahh…Am I hurting you?"

"No…" Yao lifted his body again and fell against that strong pair of muscles. "Ah! No…This is wonderful."

Ivan was allowed only the ability to moan.

Either found themselves caught inside the euphoric hands of unfettered bliss, bodies beginning to form together as something cosmic and inseparable.

Yao had never been given such a sense of closeness before, and having experiences the fingers and sentiments of so many, it truly held great meaning to his starving grasp.

He had taken love before, and every time those donors of that kindly emotion had held him and found ways far from that body they had given such passion to. Yao's palms would fill with the shattered pieces of his ever breaking heart, waiting to be adhered back into its former shape for what felt like the ten thousandth time.

"Aah! Ah…Vanya!"

And his adoration had never been so heavy, this sort of pleasure coming so incredibly rarely. It was potent as the opium he found himself inhaling near daily, yet something far purer and holding a far smaller price. There were no longer those ugly instances of dull smoke, but simply water, pristine as an untouched spring.

"Yao!"The slender man lowered himself around that length and brought himself upwards again, ecstasy screaming throughout his blood as intoxication, and possessing him as the kindest of demons.

Yao arched his back and allowed those strong arms to move his figure, more euphoria caught between either set of lips.

"Ahh…" And fingers sunk into those muscular shoulders.

Those blue eyes found hiding places beneath snowy blankets and arms overtook that beautiful man. Hips came towards the sky, and the form covering him so loyally continued to move, offering him even more of that seemingly rare satisfaction.

Their bodies slammed together with even more vigor and it seemed as though the entire earth began to quake, yet neither of them gave their regards to the shaking room. They had easily become one being, and as that fantastic and nearly glowing necklace reprimanded Yao's golden collarbone with its light movement, Ivan trust his length into the other a final time, arms capturing that beauty with all the love he contained within that great heart.

"Ah…" More words spilled in that foreign and beautiful tongue and either pair of lips met another time, tongue intertwining and heavy breath forming full lungs.

Yao gently came from Ivan's body and admitted those unsteady feet to the floor beneath him.

Either still fought for breath.

"Thank you…" The Russian wore tired, yet well pleased eyes.

"Please…Lie down."

It took moments for the large man to reply; slowly he came upon those sheets.

"I'm sorry…"

"Why?"

"Because you haven't come yet…"

Yao lied upon the contraption's calming surface with his lover and regarded the same ceiling he seemed so momentarily intent upon.

"Here…"

That capacious, yet kindly hand took a hold of Yao's stiffening member and tugged only a fragment of minutes before he found his fingers coded.

"Ah…Thank you."

"Of course."

Either closed their eyes.

"Ivan?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too…"

"You do?"

"Yes…I love you."

"Thank you."

And when that Russian awoke inside a sugary embrace with a sleeping cat curled against his foot and purring rather loudly, he found it more than difficult to rise, wanting to spend that entire morning with his broken man, if not the rest of his life.

Thus, his vision was lidded a second time.

"I love you, Yao…"

"I love you too…"

And he had found that Yao had closed his eyes another instance as well.


	48. Chapter 48

The American found himself sitting across from the Englishman once again; words stuck as stubborn grains of rice within his throat and intention livid behind those glasses. He regarded the other blond with that cigarette inside his mouth and formed sentences that fell into the earth as soon as they came into being.

"What is it, Jones? You've come for something."

"You're a sick man, Arthur."

"I told you, I don't give refunds. Unless you'd like a cigarette. You bought them, after all."

"I didn't come for a refund."

"Then why are we sitting here?"

"I want to purchase Kiku."

There was no time wasted bursting into boisterous laughter, noise coming from his mouth as if it had been ready and waiting for years, all boiling into that brief moment. "_Purchase Kiku?!_ That's the funniest thing I've heard all day! You think I'm going to let you buy my next largest commodity? Oh my goodness. You're off your fucking rocker." Tears born of that heavy amusement were banished from his eye. "Regardless. Even if you _did_ have the money, I wouldn't sell him. You don't give away your fattest pig until the fair's over, right Mr. Jones?" A steady breath of smoke. "You can have anyone in this entire house, _and you want Kiku?_ I'm sure I'll be hearing that one until I'm dead."

"Listen you bastard! I paid for a virginity I didn't get, and I didn't walk in here angry! Don't speak to me like a goddamn child, because I'm not! The least you could do is negotiate!"

"Alright, let's negotiate." Mr. Kirkland pulled a hand gun from the inside of his vest and pointed the business end towards the American's head. "Here's my bit. You sit down, or you're on the floor. How about it?"

It was not the first time Arthur had an upset costumer placed within his hands, and it was not the first time he had wielded a gun. There were several men who kept such weapons within their clothes and had no qualms of killing a pimp or a prostitute. And it was not past Mr. Kirkland to place a lid upon the situation, when that flame of rage just began to burn.

Alfred slowly came to his seat.

"I thought so." Tobacco found death within a small ceramic bowl, and another beginning life was placed upon the table, its tip waiting for the very ember that had just cooked its brother. This edition wore a dent from being subjected to that ruthless pocket, and it even brought some kind of intimidation to the man who watched. "I don't want to shoot you. But I will if these negotiations you insist upon can't occur calmly. Now what the fuck do you want from me? I'm not selling him; I guarantee I won't. Is there anything left to say, or do you just like to waste my time? I'm a busy man."

The other thought a moment, his gaze cast upon the table with his lips spread in deep thought.

"Since I don't want a refund, perhaps I can see Kiku one last time for free. After that, I doubt I'll be doing any more business with you."

Another edition of mocking joy from the lips of the Englishman. "You've got a good pair if you're asking me for anything with a gun pointed at your head…But alright. Fine. Not much taken from my pocket." The pistol found home within the man's breast and Alfred stood to go.

"Good-bye, Mr. Jones. I hardly knew ye."

"I hope you choke on a cigarette, you filthy pig."

"And I hope you manage not to choke on a cock. That would be fairly embarrassing, wouldn't it?"

The American left without words and that slight addiction came into those British lips. Arthur was well anticipating Kiku's hatred for him to grow as a malnourished plant under the sweet showers of spring, yet was too selfish to give him freedom.


	49. Chapter 49

"Hello, Alfred."

"Hello, Kiku." The American left a kiss upon the new whore's cheek. "I um…I have to tell you something."

Alfred's stomach twisted into a knot, having to glance into those beautiful marbles composed of dark glass. It was not easy to speak with such secrecy beneath his tongue, and the very notion of hiding truths tasted as poison and gave him according reactions.

"What is it?"

"I uh-" Those blond brows seemed to sink. "Can we speak in the garden?"

"Yes, of course…Whatever you like."

Their hands came into momentary union, and even as their palms simply brushed, Kiku could feel something had gone; perhaps that item about to be taken. A hybrid of concern and dejection befell his light shoulders, and he could hardly hold them up.

They sat upon the bench, as they had so many times before, that great tree above them becoming something balding and dead, and sickness had not yet come.

"What is it, Alfred? Is everything alright?"

"No…"

"…What's the matter?"

Again, that form nearly collapsed into itself, trying to take the words from that stubborn mouth. "I'm uh…" A long pause. "I'm not certain if I can see you again."

"Why?" Immediate panic washed over that once peaceful visage. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No…Goodness, no. It's not you." A kiss of faux reassurance was allowed upon the other's cheek, in something of apology as well as deep longing. "It's Arthur…I can't give him anymore money out of my pocket."

"How am I supposed to see you?"

"I don't know…I don't think we can see one another any longer."

"But Alfred, I love you…You're just going to leave me here? _Because Mr. Kirkland is terrible?_ One could see that just by glancing at him! How is leaving me going to do a damn thing to change that?!"

"It's not. But I won't give my money to a rapist, only to see someone I love suffer under his hand. If I pay him, I'm supporting that. And I can't consciously allow myself to do such a thing…It won't make much of a difference; no. But by paying him it just feels like I'm hurting you just as much…If Arthur didn't have his money and his whore house, he would have nothing, and wouldn't have control over you…I can't feed that monster, regardless of the feelings I have for someone trapped inside its stomach."

Kiku truly had nothing to say, emotions welling inside his stomach he did not have labels for.

"I love you…And I truly hope you can get away from here."

"So…Did you even try to purchase me? _If you care so much._ You could have taken me away from him…You could have stopped paying him and kept me at your side. Did you make an attempt…or did you decide that it would only help Mr. Kirkland?" Kiku was drawn to tears, yet his face did not contort, nor did his stare break from those azure wells he had fallen so in love with.

"Of course I did! That was the entire reason I spoke to him…He told me that he wouldn't sell you. Not for a long while…He laughed at me, actually, for even raising the question…And if you don't believe me you can ask Arthur. He'll likely tell you the same thing."

And Kiku's sharp words were stolen, right from his gaping mouth.

"I'm sorry, Kiku…I love you; I truly do."

"…I'm sorry as well, Alfred."

Their bodies came into an embrace and neither spoke for a lengthily duration.

"Here…I wanted to give you something."

Alfred pulled an article of jewelry with exceeding caution from his pocket, the chain devised of gold and heavy with a shining diamond upon its base. Gently, those American hands place the stone upon the new possessor's collarbone and hooked the clasp behind that slender neck.

"You can keep it, or you can sell it…You would likely get a lot of money for this…I can't take you away from here; not myself. But perhaps this necklace can…Do whatever you feel you need to do."

"Thank you, Alfred."

Again another warm embrace, this edition nearly setting either party's skin to flames.

"I love you, Kiku…I'm sorry I couldn't keep you myself. But I'll send you letters. I just hope Arthur will let you have them."

"Thank you…" A slight moment was taken to control those still coming feelings. "Thank you."

The evening past without words, but plenty was spoken in those soft touches and comforting arms. Neither wanted to accept that very reality, and hours passes with thought trying to register within either mind. Alfred considered returning and trying to speak with that monster that held his darling so close at hand, but he could not. He had made a promise to his own values.

When the morning washed the sky in its gorgeous hues, they still held one another, mouths touching and good-byes exchanged.

"Good-bye, Alfred…Thank you."

"Good-bye, Kiku. Please take care of yourself."

"I'll try."

A sad smile and another set of heart wrenching goodbyes.

Alfred turned away, finding himself unable to look back, and Kiku regarded him, tears welling against his vision and taking that sunrise spreading its message upon the sky. When that American dissolved from his sight, as well as his entire future, Kiku rose. He had not slept, and found his body to be devoid of all emotion and energy.


	50. Chapter 50

Yao lied upon his bed, eyes welling with thought as well as agony. Bái was curled against his hip and his vision clung to that ceiling, as though it would drag him from that hell set so easily within that body and filling his sheets as the plague upon a great many continents.

The world around him fell to ruin, possessions once so precious strewn about the floor and the entire universe disheveled.

He had created a mess of that realm when he was intoxicated, yet when he was subjected to the strongest of discomfort objects lied as casualties from frustration and feigned support.

So that ragged body was strewn against the bed, drenched in sweat and anger and sadness and deep contemplation. Muscles converted to ember and blood converted to ice, all in that state of painful withdrawal. His mouth was torn open and he absorbed breath deeply, soft cries omitted from those very same blossoms.

"Ah…"

Teeth embraced his lower lip as cramps filled all the corners of his sobbing figure, limbs attempting not to shake.

Yao had not felt opium within his lungs nearly two days, and his nerves were just beginning their worst convulsions, sending his flesh rolling against a rough hill, composed only of boulders and barbed wire.

Not only was he in growing discomfort, but his stomach screamed of evident sickness. His innards had become a mass of needles and anger; writhing while each wall collapsed upon the section adjacent to it. Vision ran from the reality set around him, and he was left delusional with emotions in water laced those blind wells.

"Ah!"

He wanted his Russian…To hold him within those strong arms and prevent those tremors occurring so intensely beneath his very skin; to rob him of that horrid pain and to offer him all the simple kindness he always kept inside those large hands and azure windows.

"Kiku…"

A gasp from that dying mouth as that much required help was requested, streams forming against his cheeks and that throat collapsing.

"Ahh! Kiku!"

But Kiku did not come.

Yao had not spoken to the Japanese adolescent since his heart had been found against those sullen toes, and was not aware of the other's very experiences, nor did he know of those horrid aches built of depression inhabiting that foreign blood with such endless strength. No information had filled his ears, and Yao gave all his hope to those muscles kept in blatant atrophy and his stomach writhing within the fires addiction tended to create.

He tried with all the conviction living within his core not to expel the contents of those faithful organs upon the floor beneath him.

And a shaking palm removed the sweat conspiring along his brow with a sleeve inhabited by uncomfortable steam, and the man managed to close those pained eyes, tears falling from those tightly condensed lashes.

Yao wished he had never allowed that pipe to his lips, that he had not accepted that faux comfort when he needed nothing but the true article, wished he had not given his entire life to that moment involving that seemingly kind blond Frenchman; that he had not fell into such a weakened state in the very first instance; that he had not lost that sweet brother of his…That he was not a whore.

And for a moment, that man fell into a rich purple sky, his arms outstretched before him and his body drifting along a pleasant and cool breeze, soaring amongst those golden clouds the deities all had sat upon. His feet landed inside a small village surrounded by healthy rice patties and dark skinned women. Progression was made in all directions, the owner of that very dream world absorbing the atmosphere wrapped around his form, and eventually, he found his toes within a peaceful home, complete with a mother and father and a few brothers and sisters. None wore their identities, their very forms silhouettes and their shadows all choosing a particular hue, applying it so faithfully to their flesh and wardrobe.

The mother inhabited that corner, a newborn child sitting within her arms. The infant's skin was as a shining diamond and illuminated the entire room, once left so dark in the essence of so many. All those invisible views were drawn to that youth and its silken flesh, gorgeous hair and flawless face.

All the imperfect children allowed their fingers to that odd collection and light and pulchritude. Yao could only watch, his limbs turning to something fatal as stone.

The walls fell around that scene and the family sank into that earth, leaving the shining child upon that lonely dirt. The baby stood and collected years within those tiny palms, coming upon the ability to walk and speak. His hair was drawn into a small bun upon that lovely crown and he wandered forward, light still beaming from his core and illuminating all the blackness forming around that innocent form.

Yao chased that boy only a few paces before another came, this one encased in the awful grips of ink, as if a terrible demon sank within his stomach and infected him with fetid essence. He could have been the very incarnation of opium himself. The smell of that stinking smoke followed him closely as his aura.

The boy was taken by the hand, and followed that horrid man he was connected to, a fraction of that once unfettered light falling against that fertile and greedy soil.

Seasons came and walls were placed around those two opposing forces, the child's light slightly dying as his body became larger. And that black man lingered, always only steps from that dimming star.

That shining form was set before another who had come, the texture of his flesh a bright and attractive emerald, flesh glimmering with the promise of hope and unadulterated fields of flowers, honey and beauty.

As either sat there, that once dying jewel was restored and took on a sheen it had never possessed before. He had fallen in love for the very first time.

Yao watched as the emerald took the diamond from his place within that stinking dirt and dragged him to the next city, hands connected and their feet roaming quickly and happily, that shimmering youth turning to something blinding.

As time once again warped that play, the former emerald converted to a dull and putrid tone, and the other became less than what he had the potential to be, yet still shone with a slight radiance that attracted all of those filthy months to his resilient flesh. A child held either hand, one the gorgeous color of the sky and the other a lavish purple. The owner of those occupied palms adored them and gave them the best of all he had, despite the cracks adorning his flesh, those terrible ornaments handed to him by the very man who had once turned his ember to a vision absorbing flame.

And Yao watched as that boy captured in that royal purple was stolen right from the holder's palm, sold by his former lover to an unknown party without so much as warning or explanation. That shining aurora turned to the darkest of ink, devouring all the light around it, instead of donning that very energy as it usually had, and bashing fragments of jewel away from that man who had kept him as captive, either form bathed in the reddest of wine, elements taken by an expensive club and a life that had been omitted to a vessel seeping with wrath.

When that man returned to his normality, the light had nearly been extinguished and only continued to dim.

Yao regarded with intent eyes as that set evaporated as well, and that small blue child continued to grow until his own luminescence was wasted feeding the dying god. And he watched…and watched…and watched until his heart wore into something decrepit.

He watched as he destroyed entire lives and empires and stole energy, only to allow it all to support his own greed.

And Yao watched as that struggling flame was accompanied by the same sort of jewel he once was, but this version was far larger and omitted even greater light, so bright it had taken his sight right from those dark pupils, just as the other's charity once had.

And the larger sat adjacent to the smaller, taking his hand, only a small amount of that heat absorbed to rekindle his fighting ember, so buried in the ashes of all the instances of light before it.

The dead man was resurrected and either gem, the large and the small, danced together in their palace lit entirely by diamonds and perpetual sunshine. They had gone away from all the pain and sorrow, heartache and suffering, and connected in a land of wondrous truth, their realm completely white.

They flew into the heavens together, hands melded as one great stone, exchanging smiles and embraces. The love they held could not be fettered; it had washed that deep evil inflicted by the others away, banishing it to the hell it had always belonged in. There was only the two, and that had become the world; the entire universe condensed into those happy stars, one rising from the mud and the other pulling.

Yao opened his eyes to that familiar domain, his breath shallow and his eyes drowning in their emotion and discomfort. He could not see the reality placed before him any longer; even the animal connected to his shaking side could not be felt.

A brief wave of purity built of epiphany swallowed him momentarily, and a sob tore his throat in that very bath. He cried not of the pain writhing inside his flesh, or of the captors and his lost loves, but of something far more inexplicable.

There was a peace he had not felt, yet sought as some men seek the fountain of youth, and it ran through his veins as a bountiful and immaculate river, washing everything away for that brief period, until the agony of withdrawal returned.

But Yao was happy. For some reason, he was happy, and his tears came as a great flood upon a dry earth.


	51. Chapter 51

Arthur found that body, hardly clasping the soul that residing beneath that flesh, and witnessed the tears leaking so willingly upon that visage, those shaking hands and that open mouth, nearly hours after that withdrawal had began.

"Yao…What's the matter with you?"

There could not be a coherent response, yet a moan came in addition with skin quaking and a stomach submitted to fire.

Arthur drew closer to that man, witnessing the sweat drenching his brow and his fingers threatening to tear the sheets positioned so innocently beneath him. He stood before a puddle of heavy expulsion Yao had given to that undeserving floor, and simply regarded the entire world sitting around their still bodies.

"Arthur…"

A cloth came from the white demon's pocket and erased the discharge weighing against the whore's brow, that rag immediately drowning in all that it had removed.

"Sit up."

When that form proved incapable to follow such orders, a torso was lifted and that body resting against that headboard, shoulder blades relaxing upon wood. Those dying eyes spoke with him a long moment, tone dull and nearly grey. They almost seemed as though the wearer had become blind, and the soul inside had leaked away through loose pores.

For a moment, Arthur was nearly gentle with his possession, allowing the back of his hand to soothe that heated face. Bits of soaked hair were brushed away from Yao's visage, and his robes were loosened around damp limbs.

"You know…I should be angry with you. You've destroyed your room and now you're going to cost me customers. You had guests today, Yao."

The man left in so much discomfort did not respond, only placed a quivering limb upon the demon's wrist, breathing calming only somewhat, and his eyes closing, almost as if he was welcoming and accepting death's sweet and humane embrace all at once.

"Arthur…Please…"

"Please what?"

The other lost his consciousness.

"It's unfortunate your withdrawal isn't scheduled on my time. It's wonderful that you're trying to quit, but…Well; it's going to cost me. And I didn't ask you to begin in the first place."

"What are you saying?"

"I think it's about time you smoked a bit of your opium, isn't it?"

"No…"

"It looks like you're ready to die."

"I won't…Please."

"…No." Weighty legs brought Arthur to Yao's chest and removed another box from its confusing innards, as he had when he had first confiscated the man's habit. That murderous necessity was returned, and now it only seemed to contribute to that helpless demise.

The pipe was taken primarily, and then all those scrambled matches, donned to him by the Englishman himself.

Yao watched in exhausted horror, and tried with all the determination left within his marrow to rise from that comfortable prison, managing the pads of his feet to press so quietly against that floor. A heavy breath inhabited his lungs before he moved those shivering thighs, desperate for release of that scene and that demon, so willing to destroy what little progress he had made.

"I can see you…Do you honestly believe that you're going to leave this room? _In your state?_ You might as well just lie back down. At least then you'll be able to relax."

But Yao did not give his attention to all those words, their bodies and frames built of steel and their noses shaped as the most potent of spears. Paces were slowly completed beneath his feet before Yao claimed his tragic fall, struggling to rise a second time.

Yet, that pipe had been readied, and the reaper did not wait to take his victims. They were never prepared.

"No…I want to stop…"

"Of course you do." Arthur came nearer and sat upon the lost soul's center, pinning down those arms and giving his gaze to that withered face. "But I'm not going to let you waste everyone's time and money." The mouth of that rancid pipe came nearer to Yao's lips, which he had sealed with holy intent, yet he could hardly hold his position. The weight Mr. Kirkland had laid upon his middle brought great pain, and his muscles were already buried deep within their decomposition, an internal battle fought within his stomach and very core; the civil war that would very well annihilate the earth that it resided upon.

"No! I'm not going to smoke any longer! Get off of me!"

A reprimand came to Yao's cheek, and did not cease to knock his visage back and forth until the man could not handle anymore of that hand, so skilled in the terrible art of pain. His lips were left parted, advantage left to the man holding that awful device.

"Take the pipe!" Addiction was placed just before those gaping petals, but Yao would not close them around it. His arms struggled in their convulsions and he tried with great valor to free his limbs, yet was still given the mercy of Arthur's powerful legs.

"Get off of me!" Yao hollered, fighting for air. "I can't! I've made a promise!"

"_A promise?!_"

"Yes!"

"To who?!"

When Yao did not answer, a reply was dragged into his worn mouth by a knock to that sore flesh, that edition strong as the Englishman could muster.

"Tell me!"

"To Ivan!"

"Ivan?" That violent world seemed to calm only momentarily, and its ruler laughed, striking the ruined whore several more times, these instances left to near play. "You made a promise to Ivan? _Why?_ Do you think he loves you?"

"_He does!_"

And another merciless slam, that toughened weapon ready to collect teeth.

"How stupid. No one loves you, Yao. It's obvious he's just lying to you."

"He's not!"

"Of course he is. They all do. Don't you think everyone wants to say that they have the love of one of the most popular prostitutes around? You're nothing but a filthy medallion they can hold up and show everyone."

"That's not true…" Yao had exhausted himself of the fight never truly there. He was ready to sleep, even so contained beneath the heavy weight of that great macrocosm.

"Of course it is. Who can love a filthy whore like you? That Russian is nothing but a liar."

"He's not…"

"Well…However you'd like to have your heartbroken. I won't stop you."

They sat in silence, the Englishman smothering the Chinese beauty and their breaths kept uneven.

"…You loved me once, Arthur. How could you do this to me?" The oppressed wept by the hand of the oppressor. "How can you stand yourself? You've broken my bones and you've killed me." New emotion displayed against those battered cheeks, yet his features did not contort to something dreadful. "What has happened? What has happened to you? What has made you this way?" Yao finally released those arms, a cramp built of relief enveloping them and their corpses falling to the floor's ease, strength null and attention to their freedom nonexistent. "There's no need for all this…You didn't have to murder me…You didn't have to let this happen."

And for a lengthily duration, either stared into the other's eyes, the man those words were all shot at trying to place those shells into a coherent frame.

"I loved you once, Arthur…And I'm sorry."

Those emeralds spoke of nothing, and yet the entire universe revolving around them all at once.

"I'm sorry you've been made the way you are…For whatever happened to you…Because even a whore like me, who's been abused so frequently, isn't as awful as you are…And I'm sorry." A quaking hand found property upon that scarred collarbone, those elegant and nervous fingers gripping gently to that earth and planted seeds of the most vibrant of roses. "I'm sorry we're so angry…And I'm sorry that so many have been cruel to you…They didn't have to do the things they did…"

Yao's arm fell again for a long moment, and his vision was taken behind those curtains, painted so many shades so many different times, it was an anomaly they even owned a color.

And Arthur kept his seat, that sickly and unused emotion finding passage into his heart once again, and a knot forming within his throat.

Gently, the lips of that pipe met the orifice of that crushed and shattered man, and he inhaled as if he was kissing a long dead admirer, more tears of great loss and sorrow beading against those gorgeous lashes, and shallow sobs came upon that occupied tongue.

Mr. Kirkland indeed did not have to murder that once gorgeous deity, placed so wonderfully against those high clouds. For a moment within that blackened life, he had almost saved him.

Yet, something dominating as greed would not allow him that heavenly freedom, so that shining man was made a slave, and his master had crushed him beneath a great occupation of demands and silk.

No, he did not need possession of that soul, nor did he intend on allowing any other being that great pleasure, not even the collector of ashes himself.

Within that state of purification, that light had nearly been extinguished under a mighty breath.

It was better to have addictions than lie dead.


	52. Chapter 52

"I'm sorry…He's not taking visitors at the moment. You'll have to come back another time."

The Russian stood there, bouquet of flowers within those gentle hands and an odd expression lying upon those features. "Come one, Mr. Kirkland." Words were spoken in heavily accented English and the other looked genuinely surprised, having not heard that tongue in what felt like centuries, much less from a foreign mouth. "I don't care if he's a mess. Just let me see him."

"Well…fine. But I'm not offering you another appointment since you wanted to see him now."

"Of course not."

"Alright…I suppose you can stay as long as you like. He's not going anywhere or seeing anyone."

"Thank you."

The Englishman allowed room for that large body, soon finding himself alone amongst those empty streets, the light of the sun washing him within its golden hues. For a moment, he pondered the reasons of those oddly scheduled visits, but simply gave his reasons to blame of abnormality and turned, his feet taking him back inside that great palace.

Ivan climbed up those stares; his muscles not quickened, but not slow. He was careful not to smoother the roses resting so sweetly upon his chest, and careful not to lose his way inside that labyrinth of lost souls and broken men, that pavilion inhabited by what seemed like far too many.

The Russian located the hidden man's chamber and opened that screen with caution, as if he was bearing witness to an act he should have not viewed, or was about to rob the world of something valuable.

"Yao?"

"Ivan…Is that you?" That sought man's eyes were welded shut with his expected emotions, and with cautious hands sitting upon his reddened and bruised cheeks, he wiped them away.

"Yes…May I come inside?"

"You're always allowed inside my room."

"Thank you." Ivan came inside and joined his companion, kneeling before his ruined mass of flesh positioned so easily upon the floor, and observing his darling with concerned jewels of azure beauty, absorbing the marks strewn about that disheveled and tired face, all given by the generous and malevolent hand of Arthur. He set the flowers at his side, far too taken by the man placed before him to place worry upon their scarlet hues. "…What happened?"

"I tried to stop smoking."

Ivan seemed lost.

"…Please sit next to me…I'd like to hold your hand and it would be odd like this."

"Of course."

The fair skinned deity took his place next to that bruised soul and palms connected sweetly between them, that pain coursing through Yao's susceptible body seeming to lessen with their flirting fingers and kissing skin. Ivan laid a touch to the gorgeous man's temple before allotting residence to the roses within his careful lap, attending to that healing form with his kindly eyes and willing ears.

"So what happened…When you tried to stop?"

"I was in withdrawal and Mr. Kirkland had found me upon my bed…He wiped the sweat from my face and spoke to me a few moments, telling me I couldn't quit on his time; that I was wasting his money…So he took my pipe and while he prepared it, I tried to get away…But of course, I didn't get far…He pinned me to the floor and slapped me around until I wouldn't fight any longer, then forced me to smoke." Emotion fell upon that stoic cheek and Ivan rescued its corpse with a heroic finger blade.

"Oh, Yao…I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault…"

"Well…" A few seconds progressed for years. "I brought these for you…" The Russian handed his bouquet of rubies caught within petals to that creature who had eaten away so much of his affectionate heart and offered another embrace of the lips, careful not cause any more pain upon that crying shell.

"Thank you…Ivan?"

"Yes?"

"I've been bothered by something Mr. Kirkland had said…And I need to be sure of something."

"What is it?"

"You love me, don't you? Because I love you. I know most of my clients are paid to be lied to, but you're truly the only one I adore…Arthur told me that…" Those words came as heavy stones lathered in strong adherent, all caught within that pretty throat. "That no one could love me...That everyone who I thought loved me was simply lying so they could call me theirs." A cautious sleeve brushed past those welling eyes.

Ivan did not respond with great speed or even with his usual string of kind words of reassurance and unfettered adoration built of truth. Instead, either palm held gently to Yao's ears and amorous answer was given as a fantastic brand upon that golden brow. A hand was taken from the whore's custody and pressed against the other's warm chest, secured there with an even larger edition resting upon the previous visitor's elegant back.

"…Do you feel that?"

"Yes…I do."

"It's yours…Every chamber of it." Another kiss that evoked fire within the blood. "I won't lie to you…You had my heart before you even met me…I'm certain that other men do lie, but I'm incapable of doing so about my feelings; not when they're this strong. You have all of all them right in your palm, Yao…You'd know the moment I tried." Lips met so pleasantly to welcoming flesh. "And I want to take you away from this place…Once you can stray from Arthur, I'll help you in whatever way I can, and you can stop smoking opium…Because I love you…And I want to make you happy…"

Yao's heart had nearly ceased, yet he could feel every one component of Ivan's very blood coursing through that wondrous chest, and could experience down to his very marrow how nervous he was.; how much the next words would weigh upon his mind and heart, left so daintily upon Yao's open palm…He did love him…and it was clear as pure water what a gem Yao had found, pressed against his very fingers.

There was a smile upon that gorgeous and beaten face, more tears sticking to those ebony eyes. Yao stole away one of those beautiful hands, so busy with securing his palm to that quaking chest and allowed it upon his own, the other left within that golden set sitting upon that snowy skin.

"I love you…And I'll follow you where ever you go…Because this is yours as well. You have my soul in your palm, Mr. Braginski. And you have all of my trust."

The Russian smiled and brought the other within his lap, all that strength enveloping him as their mouths came together in the strongest of reunions, lovely blossoms smothered in that mass of uncut adoration, either party losing all of their worldly concerns and stepping into a realm of euphoria.

And Kiku watched from the door's frame, tears marring his visage as well, although no one paid mind to his sullen face. For a moment, it seemed as though no one ever had.

He regarded that scene set before him, almost as though he was watching the tragic happenings of a play, observing the main character as everything he had wanted was delivered right into those outstretched and gaping palms. His lover, his freedom, the life Mr. Kirkland had molded into something intended of his own pleasure, and all the things Kiku had ever desired, all inside that grasp. Kiku only found an alms bowl upon his fingers, the only thing made to inhabit it being a necklace of pure gold and diamonds.

He was stricken by anger as well as unfettered envy that he was not allowed those very same opportunities; he had suffered, his fingers had bled and his energy and very soul fed the man who had donated the promise of freedom, yet never truly allowed it.

He had been crushed beneath a marble foot of a European god, his ticket taken from his weakened grasp and ripped to shreds by the very same deity who had broken his spine with that weighty heel.

And Yao, who was required to grow stupid daily, who could not even cloth his own limbs, who could not come from the filthy grass with his own functional hands and feet, was granted everything, all while Kiku's eyes lie open, his heart shattered about his toes and his bowl brimming with every last ruined chance.

Perhaps he was indeed younger, but he felt as though he was a slave locked within a golden cage, surrounded by silk and suffocating pearls. He had exhausted all his energy assisting that man, and now held the requirements of working nightly, seeing clients who paid for that lost innocence and regarded him as nothing but the whore he had become, as a figure without wants or emotion or need or desire. As a corpse they could place their fingers upon. A shell they could afflict with their cruel bruises and their ill made affections…

His hands were filthy and he was left with eyes marinating within his sorrow, hatred for that man who had eaten away all of his time as a confection, and to the demon who had devoured his life through that gaping black hole of a mouth.

Yao did not deserve to have fingers so occupied when he had torn the contents of other's palms away for his own hunger; his own need. Not after all he had carefully balanced upon Kiku's shoulders to be sure that resilient scale did not tilt and shatter. Not after all of those instances clouded in smoke; after all the shameless demands for fetid tasks; not after washing that helpless flesh and clothing him without the assistance of a single limb, and cleaning his chamber, as well as keeping him from falling against that cruel floor in his intoxication, often too far gone to realize all he had just requested.

And the child did not raise complaint to that owner accept for all his barely audible sighs. Most words he had uttered were lost within that great veil of haze almost constantly surrounding that drunken head, and were never to be relocated again, their deaths cold and mysterious as the nonsensical thoughts that ran though that incoherent mind kept so faithfully within that irritating state.

If anyone should have that holy rope caught inside that deep well, it should have been Kiku; not someone so careless. How can the shimmering trophy of championship be donated to the novice?

Something inside that Japanese heart lay deeply broken. And after walking from that small performance, he found himself to be a new sort of person. In some odd way, he felt as though he had aged hundreds of years in the course of only mere moments, his heart rusted and bitter and old. He was no longer that of a docile child but a man lost within that dirt beneath the population's toes, promises of better days broken so many times, every last word to him was a disgusting untruth. Yao's care should have been torn as soon as Kiku was caught beneath that Englishman.

The newly donned bitter soul waded back to his chamber and drew out his blackest of silks, coded in crimson flowers and beautiful in the way one would find a still moth; so grey and detailed and yet so very dead. New flesh came around him and Kiku regarded that freshened vessel a long moment within that faux universe of glass, his lips slightly agape and his eyes full of the emptiness they all had shoved within his defenseless grasp.

The colors of happy flowers and sky no longer belonged around those limbs. He was not a _kokeshi_ doll, nor a servant. He was a whore; one placed just before Yao, if not of the very same caliber.

He was expensive and he was beautiful.

And he was not held so sweetly in the arms of addiction.

Often times, kind words had leaked from that pretty mouth, and it was he that deserved the hand of a just deity, while all the others were swept away by simple pity.

Kiku's tears had dried upon that face, and his heart became silent and still, as the stones so many had placed their reckless sandals upon.


	53. Chapter 53

Kiku sat within Mr. Kirkland's lap, eyes dead and sullen and the other's full of great pleasure.

"Ah…Kiku….You're a fast learner."

There was not a response from that quiet party and no words between those beautiful lips.

"…Did you like that?"

"Certainly, Mr. Kirkland." In their love making, Kiku's member had hardly become firm.

The Englishman made brief regard in between those legs, and witnessed that very truth; that nothing had been stirred. Potent disappointment came and those pale lips nuzzled into that silky flesh, a hand collapsing against a smooth collarbone, and the owner of that wonderland was taken into an embrace.

"What's wrong Kiku?"

Again, nothing.

"…You can tell me."

"There is nothing to tell." Kiku pulled away and took a place within that welcoming bed, allowing himself the privilege of another possession in Arthur's museum of strange wonders. He lied beneath those deep covers as if he was a man committed to drowning, letting that ocean cover him in all its froth.

Two arms held that chest, looping beneath his shoulders, and his backside was pulled nearer to the demon's never full stomach, his insatiable hunger nearly leaking onto Kiku's blackened flesh.

"Are you going to sleep?" The awful man's words were warm inside his ear.

"Yes…I am."

"Good…I am as well. Stay with me."

"I had no intention of leaving."

Slow kisses were planted upon the nape of Kiku's neck and Arthur forced him closer, placing a leg over his hip as his mouth began to draw upon that pretty skin, emeralds lidded behind great blankets laced by blond lashes. "You're so lovely…"

"Thank you, Mr. Kirkland."

It was obvious Kiku was not himself. Everything caught within those pupils was a representation of busy thought, placed upon a visage writhing in quiet dejection. He did not allow those bright colors to affect his limbs any longer, and it almost seemed as though ten years had came and slipped away in the matter of minutes, everyone left with deep confusion, all accept the one who had taken those seasons and eaten them alive. No one held that sought after knowledge of Kiku's true feelings. Most times those dull eyes were construed to be the burn of lost adoration and longing.

Yao had not pried. He understood the loss one had collected after someone so beloved was ripped from the bearer's fingers, their hands left to bruises of that quick fight, and blood-perhaps not even theirs- upon once innocent fingers. And Yao could not numerate all the times he held those sad magenta badges and unwanted wine, only required to clean either as his heart dove into the acid churning against the walls of his stomach; no one understood so very well.

That once sweet child would simply be taken into a deep embrace while those popular crimson lips adhering gently to that cheek, knowing no words could remove the sickness welding his stomach into something foreign, and no syllable could clean those hands of their residue. It was all something one had to remedy themselves.

So Kiku lied in his place, lost within a maze of his own contemplation. He no longer felt guilt for them. Yes. He wanted that man wrapped so permanently around him to loss his soul in painful means. Yes. He wanted to take what Yao had and display it upon his own fingers, and yes, he did not feel shame as all those words pooled around his brow. Yes, he was indeed scheming so all his wishes would be well accomplished.

He would not murder Mr. Kirkland, although he wanted that earthly life to be gone. Perhaps the Englishman would drink a heaping glass of poison, disguised as the finest of liquor, or perhaps take a great fall from a burly edifice, with Kiku's hands somehow set behind him, or that knife plunging right through his heart. He would pull it from those quiet robes and drive it directly home.

But Kiku would not kill, although those desires for his master's death did not fail to occur within that mind, starving for something as retribution.

As for Yao, he did not want Ivan Braginski, but for Yao to experience loneliness evoked by that handsome Russian's absence; for Yao to devour emptiness, having took so frequently from that weighty bowl of generosity Kiku once carried upon his breaking spine.

Inside that disturbed vision, it was either of them to be subjected to the embers of blame, yet neither of them at all. The world could be held beneath Fault's heavy thumb, and that ache could be contributed to haphazard chance. Kiku no longer knew who he should set blame upon. His hatred had tied a thick cloth around those lovely eyes and placed a heavy blade within that once kindly palm. He wore an odd sort of grin upon his face and held a stomach empty of revenge.

It was almost as though each day cut a small amount from his mind.

In his dreams, Mr. Kirkland gently attached his mouth to that savory flesh, and Kiku laid waking, continuing his long string of darkened thoughts, continuing to chop away fragments of his sanity and burying them in all different corners of that cruel universe.

And in a moment of misplaced serenity brought on by the desire of dreams, Kiku filled his deteriorating mind with Alfred, his sunny face…all his smiles.

That American was the gold inside a pile steep in soot, and the moment that whore was tempted by that shimmering stone, it was stolen directly from that fettered pile, Arthur the culprit that snatched that small amount of beauty for his own well being, and the founder of that happy instance finding his numerals blackened by the attempt he had made, and his stomach ready to burst of earned rage.

And as Arthur kissed softly, Kiku cried, angry with every last circumstance tripping him as unsightly boulders placed against that once hopeful path. There was ferocity regarding his childhood, his wasted youth, and it made every last section of him boil, yet those kicking limbs were controlled by heavy stone devouring them.

Kiku wondered where his letters were.

That shining deity had promised them.

Kiku did not wake that morning. He could not. He had not slept.


	54. Chapter 54

Kiku sat upon that bench and gave all his thoughts to that expansive sky, the clouds drifting before the sun and casting odd shadows upon his placid cheeks.

He did not notice when Yao took a spot at his side and regarded his face a long moment, the addict searching inside those dead wells for some sign of recognition or even bare emotion, but the only inhabitant was darkness, and it sent convulsions tearing down the viewer's spine.

"Kiku…"

"What is it? I don't want to help you with anything right now. Find someone else."

"I don't need help…I'm just worried about you."

"Why? I'm just fine. Never have I been better in my life."

"Kiku, look at me."

"I don't really want to, but thank you for the offer."

The elder's brows furrowed and he allowed a long sigh from those expensive lips. "Kiku…Is there anything you need to talk about? Because you know I'll listen…You don't seem much like yourself any longer…And I don't want you to be in pain anymore than you have to be…Please, You-"

"Yao, shut your mouth."

"Kiku! _Don't speak to me that way!_ Why don't you look at me?! Stop watching the sky like it's more important than your own goddamn brother!"

A reply was not created for the other's ears.

"_Kiku!_"

"_Be quiet!_" Those eyes were finally surrendered to the man who had so demanded them, fire thriving within their reflection. "Are you confused? It's simple; shut your mouth! Or have you cooked your brain to the point of miscomprehending simple Chinese?!"

Yao absorbed that shaking image with pain beginning to well within that kindly heart, offended that his good intentions were roasted upon raging embers.

"Maybe I don't want to talk to anyone! Maybe I _like_ sitting alone! The moment we finished speaking you would ask me to assist you with something anyway! '_Kiku, why don't you brush my hair? Kiku, can you help me with my outfit?_' Well what are these?!" The equivalent's wrists were gripped and held to certain aggression, the one owning that brutal hold aiming to bring harm to his elder sibling. "They're not broken, Yao." And those limbs were tossed aside. "So what did you really come for? Coax me into bathing you, or did you simply want me to hold the pipe to your lips?"

Yao slapped Kiku across the cheek with all the anger that Japanese whore had instilled within his boiling essence.

And was taken by complete shock when the back of Kiku's hand threw his face aside.

"…_You just hit me_."

"Oh my goodness. _I did?_ I was just trying to give you a kiss. Would you like me to try again?"

"It's not wonder why Arthur likes you so well. You're becoming just like him. No, you _are_ just like him…I was trying to help you, Kiku…I didn't want anything besides the knowledge that you were alright. But you clearly are not."

"Worry about yourself. You have far more problems than I. Why don't you calm down? Go feed that addiction of yours? It doesn't really matter to me. Regardless, you're out of my hair."

"What's happened to you? Kiku, _I love you._ I know I have my vices and my problems, and _I'm sorry_…But you don't need to say such harsh things. Not to someone who cares about you…Not to someone who loves you so much…Not to someone who would give anything for you."

"Then give up opium."

And Yao simply walked away.

Kiku took to the sky as if something of impeccable wisdom had been scribed upon those heavenly clouds.

Hours later, Mr. Kirkland took a place adjacent to that contemplative soul; hand gently falling upon the younger's in a sort of desperate communication. Kiku's gaze did not afflict the other, but shot into those tiny green follicles, begging for the same sunlight that broken one found so heavily inside his eyes.

"Kiku…"

Teeth sunk into a fleshy lip.

"You hit Yao, didn't you?"

"So what if I did?"

Nothing.

"…Has Alfred sent me any letters?"

"No."

"…Are you certain?"

"Nothing had come in…I never liked that stupid American anyway."

"Don't call him stupid…I loved him."

"Why?"

"Because he was beautiful and kind and I wasn't allowed to have him."

"_What do you mean you weren't allowed to have him?_"

"You took him away. You wouldn't allow him to purchase me and take me from this hellhole. But I'm not surprised. Everything around here is wrong, and everything you do is based on greed. If it was up to me, I would have his hand in mine right now, and we would be continents away from here."

Usually, during such moments, Mr. Kirkland would unleash that insatiable wrath upon his whore, leaving bruises for each little snide comment, and giving them weighty regret for even capturing the gull to raise their statements so freely.

But he could not reprimand Kiku. That child had shattered his core and collected a few of those pieces within an impervious jar, hidden beneath his robes and flesh and his very knowledge. The possessor did not have an inkling of the possession.

An infection of guilt even sickened for damaging that once shining youth so ruthlessly. Now, that precious soul bled and he was allowed a crimson bleached knife inhabiting dirty fingers.

Yet, he could not articulate those very sentiments; even if he was granted that ability, he would not. It was difficult for the Englishman to even experience emotion other than happy satisfaction or undying rage. It was all he had ever known, and all he had ever truly sought with a hungry grip.

Kiku rose without communication and began to wade from that blond man.

"Where are you going?"

"Inside."

"No you aren't. Sit back down."

"Alright." Yet, those feet did not cease in their imminent paths, and Arthur did not follow.

When Kiku reached his room, something savage possessed that flow of angered blood, and yet the conscious being beneath all that rage was not allowed opinion or even health. He could not feel sorrow or that raging destruction kept within his stomach beneath that clad lock. He did not feel the things beneath his fingers and heels as he set them driving into that floor. He did not feel his decorations clatter upon an unforgiving surface and shatter into many unwilling pieces. He did not feel his hands capture the silks from his form and nearly tear them from those livid appendages, nor did he feel that air spinning wildly around his naked form.

He did not even feel that diamond so molded with that golden chain inside his palm as he tried to shatter it, those edges threatening to collect blood and win that horrid battle between owner and near helpless possession. And he did not feel it as that gift as well went rolling into that ruined plain, causing a near crater from its simplistic weight.

Kiku did not feel the guilt he should have for all those days' events, although he knew his actions and words were cruel and unwanted by all the ears they were forced into.

He only felt those cool sheets around his crippled back as he dreamt hours' rage far from that once blessed figure.

Fantasy formed around him, and he was lost inside the deceiving arms of temporary comfort.


	55. Chapter 55

Kiku sat before Ivan with a small grin painted so splendidly upon his face. He had taken the place of Yao and it seemed as though every opportunity was set before him.

Yao had forgotten an instrument at a far away location, yet one that was still plausible by foot, and Mr. Kirkland had required him retrieve it, telling Kiku to keep that Russian, usually held within different possession, company.

Their eyes met softly, Kiku's near flirtatious, inside a special room of the Pavilion, and were brought wine to drink as well as small glasses to accompany that bottle.

"How have you been lately, Mr. Braginski? It has been a long while since we've spoken."

"I've actually been feeling quite wonderful…How have you been?"

"I've most certainly seen better days, but that's truly not important." Kiku regarded him with heavy eyes as the Russian drank his liquor. "Because some days I feel most spectacular."

"What is it that makes you feel spectacular?"

"It's difficult to explain. Occasionally, doing my job well…And at other times, simply having time alone. It depends on my feelings that day, I suppose. But I can find pleasure in most anything, especially when it is done correctly."

"Ah. I see. I can appreciate high quality things as well…Like holding a new book in your hands, or playing a song without mistakes."

"Yes. Or performing a dance with passion."

The larger offered an affirmative nod. "Now that you mention dancing…I haven't danced in a very long while…But I've always enjoyed it."

"Dancing was always my most favorite thing to do. And odd as it may be, it's a reason to enjoy this profession. It's surprising how many men appreciate dance, but it's likely that same with all art forms. There is always a myriad of admirers."

A kindly sort of smile was sketched about Ivan's lips."Very well said. Do you like any other sort of art form?"

"I've always loved poetry and painting, although I haven't truly been given the privilege to develop such tasks. I enjoy it most when I look at a canvas and I can't quite place something wrong with the brush strokes…But sometimes the sort of painting with imperfections is just as attractive. They certainly seem to reel in quite a bit of attention all the same; sometimes the painting with errors commands even more…Even though all those spectators weren't necessarily earned." Kiku took a sip of his wine. "Art is a fascinating thing, especially the pieces that are out of the ordinary." And those wells of deep ink regarded the pale visage set pleasantly before them.

Ivan's cheeks became the hue of the very liquid they had ingested. "Yes. I've always enjoyed art myself…If you ever get the chance, you should go to Russia for a few days. There are some fascinating things to see. I'm certain they wouldn't be wasted on someone such as yourself…You would likely appreciate them."

"Oh, goodness. What does someone such as myself actually know? That's very kind of you, but I'm just as certain I wouldn't know what to make of all of it."

"Well, I'll disagree with you, but I'll also allow you your opinion."

Again, Kiku donated that charming and petit curl he had utilized to capture the hearts and adorations of many before. It was in that moment that he thanked all his captors for allowing his figure such imminent sensuality. The man placed across from him was struck with something inexplicable, and he was not even made aware of those rosy cheeks and drunken response.

Kiku could hold that fluttering heart within his very palm.

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Braginski. It's so often I find myself in arguments."

"Please, call me Ivan…When people call me Mr. Braginski, I always feel somewhat uncomfortable."

"Oh, I'm sorry…How foolish of me; of course." And the persona of a young charmer was exemplified."I had no intentions of making you feel uncomfortable."

"That's alright. It's truly not a problem." Another glass was taken and sacrificed, Kiku filling that empty chalice the moment he was granted the ability. "I hope you don't consider this rude, but do you know when Yao will be returning? It's unusual for him to be so late."

"I'm sorry; I'm uncertain…But he could be quite a while…The place he's off to is quite far away. But he will return. I'm sure of that."

"Ah, alright…Thank you."

"Of course."

The Russian man drew slightly from that brimming cup and set it lightly upon the table. "Kiku, have you ever tried vodka?"

"No, unfortunately. I'll assume that you enjoy it…Is that correct?"

"Oh, yes…It's likely one of my favorite drinks."

Kiku once again allowed those playful lips to curl. "How endearing. Would you consider yourself a man of simple pleasures, Ivan?"

"Well…You've caught me. I'm not sure if there's any bigger simpleton than I am. I'm easily satisfied. Just as long as I have a bottle of vodka and a friend to share it with, I'm content. How about you?"

"How about me? Well…I think simple things can make people happy. I've found myself happiest beneath a starry sky and speaking with someone I love. But goodness, it's been something like years. Perhaps I don't have time for such simple things, although, I must say, I am enjoying your company. It's no wonder why Yao has such strong feelings for you."

The man smiled and filled his mouth with that sweet and sinful substance.

Nearly an hour later, they were in the very same place, and the Russian man had finished a bottle and half, while Kiku had barely breached his second helping.

When the servant came with another edition, a message was left quietly within his ear and a nod was given in return. The drunken man did not even take notice.

And they were once again alone.

"How do you feel Ivan?"

"Hmm?" Those shining bulbs had become dull, and lids had grown lazy, nearly falling against those lower lashes in their desired sleep.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. It's not anything to be concerned with."

"I'm sorry…" A large palm stuck to that gazer a moment, and a stupid smile was spread against that handsome mouth. "I'm a little off…How are you feeling?"

"I'm just fine; thank you."

Moments progressed and fell inside intoxicated silence, and that boy came back carrying a box, setting it politely upon the table before Kiku.

"Thank you."

"Hmm? What is that?"

Ivan was not offered the kindness of an answer, the lid removed from the ominous chest, revealing a fresh pipe already prepared with that awful ink hued substance filling its destined place, as well as its very purpose. Kiku removed that corpse from its cell and set it upon that table, retrieving the matches and then shut the portal to the fetid little universe of addiction.

The head of the very starter of great fires was lit and placed so carefully amongst those black stones, allowing smoke to rise against that confining ceiling, which seemed to grow as more of that minute forest burned.

"…Are you going to smoke that?" Although Ivan's question was coherent, his voice had grown clumsy and his syllables had become slightly disfigured, as eggs dropped from a pleasant basket, cracked, yet still perfectly functional.

"No…" Kiku rose and loosened the robes residing around his limbs as glassy blue eyes regarded him, almost as if he was putting on a lovely performance the audience had paid quite a bit for. There was nothing done to stop it.

Those dark silks draped around the assassin's ankles and he drew nearer to that malfunctioning patron, finding place against his lap, a hand occupied by intent to tear his life to shreds and free fingers drifting lightly past that heavy rouge inhabiting those pale cheeks.

"Would you like something new tonight, Ivan?" Kiku's voice became sweeter than the ugliest temptation.

When those azure gems screamed of lethargic worry and protest, the mouth did not shift. A bottom lip simply hung while a long blink was acquired.

And the naked one pressed his mouth to the other's while that free palm settled against that warm neck. There was something as mild hesitation as their tongues intertwined, but they did indeed intermingle, and the trapped man found himself aroused, although he knew that such a reaction was not supposed to occur with an unfamiliar lover pressed against his body.

For the first time in those great many weeks, Kiku had found his blood to pulse all around him, as if kept above a great and consuming fire, and his heart reacted within that once confident chest.

Their tongues past one another's and Kiku allowed slight moan from those painted lips. Not because he was still telling poisonous lies to the man who truly did not belong within his palms, but because he had finally been gratified. What he had wanted was set finally within his starving alms bowl and he kept it so close it was nearly destroyed.

As their mouths came apart, Kiku offered Ivan that pipe and was unaffected as that horrid gift was pushed aside. He had not expected it to be so simplistic.

"No…I can't."

"Alright…" Kiku placed a few of his awful intentions upon that expansive floor and continued to kiss that Russian man, so gifted in matters of the tongue.

The whore moaned as large hands came to his erect nipples, kneading pleasing circles around them as their mouths tied together in such succulent ways; saliva forming between either pair of hungry lips and both men were becoming more entranced with that occurring moment.

Kiku's head leaned back as that sweet orifice adhered so softly to his neck, selecting a nook and drawing upon supple skin, those large hands securing those shapely hips. Something was whispered in Russian and a sensuous bite was donned, bringing odd satisfaction to the smaller figure and a tighter grasp affected those large muscles.

As Ivan offered those pleasant sensations, Kiku's fingers moved towards those criminal buttons, freeing the fabric lining that fantastic chest and then pushing acquired flesh from large shoulders, allowing naked skin to the cool air residing so pleasantly around them. Kiku's numerals did not hesitate as that member was allowed from its prison of restrictive cloth, the lock picked from the Russian's trousers.

The owner of that healthy organ moaned from even the slightest contact, a euphoric cry surrounding the cause's ears as those very thieves slipped along that impressive shaft, only a moment before connecting it to their owner's cock.

Ivan's palm took possession of either of their members and messaged with certain and needy intensity, either party possessed by heavy pleasure, noises of blatant satisfaction draining from their throats.

"Ahhh…Ivan…" A free hand switched custodies and landed upon the smaller man's tongue, an index and middle suckling upon those numerals without any sort of restraint. Kiku coded them well in saliva, and the possessor of those great appendages took wondrous content in that sensation produced about his flesh.

After moments caught between those beautiful lips, Ivan claimed his extremities back and allowed them to press against the whore's opening, a digit finding entrance to that heaven so many had experienced.

"Ahhh!"

That buried claw wriggled within that easy pile of dirt, gently widening that pothole to ecstasy. Once enough room was made inside the other's body, another addition came beside the first and slowly began to scissor, placing cries of shameless bliss upon that swelling tongue, that symptom stifled by a passionate kiss with those sore organs tangling into an easy knot.

Kiku held a degree of shock at the intensity this man took his lovers. He had not felt so much pleasure since he was kept beneath the American's fiery body and smooth palms, and all of the passion kept between them was born solely of the embers of deep adoration.

"Kiku…"

The smaller of the two released loud sensation as the larger man removed those once prodding fingers, drawing that lovely waist in closer and allowing that engrossed member to press against that widened frame. Kiku fell around that Russian man with great care and gave shameless indication of his enjoyment. His hips were overtaken by those starving hands and that slender figure rose, back arched and mouth kept wide.

"Ivan!"

And once again, that member was enveloped in the prostitute's warmth, supple flesh gripped beneath possessive need.

"Ahhh!"

Kiku was incredibly close to that beautiful end, tears welling within his eyes; it had caused such satisfaction. His eyes had shut tightly and his hands clamped upon those attractive shoulders, and for a moment of great disbelief, his pondered the authenticity of that very occurrence.

It was all set inside that aggressive grasp, and reflected so fantastically upon the Russian's flesh. Kiku was well prepared to throw him from the highest of balconies, and all for his own sort of ruined bliss, something he had not been able to feel since that goddamn Alfred had evaporated into the rotting sunrise.

It had been the dawn of something awful, and his soul had been blackened in the ugliest soot , innocence and hope crippled, he was allowed the possessions of greed and the skill of seduction. He did not hesitate to deplore it.

"Kiku! Ahhh!"

The Japanese adolescent, who did not feel so young, fell once again and took a warm kiss from the Russian man. Their bodies ceased only a moment for their tongues to tangle together, while one of those well figured hands held to one of this cheeks.

Kiku moaned softly at that experienced touch, body placed within great demand and his cock begged for such attention. Generous fingers wrapped around that member and the assassin messaged as their bodies began to shift once again, Ivan's lazy eyes regarding him with bright orbs of light sitting beneath them, gaze far possessed by relentless pleasure.

Kiku's numerals became easily coded in evidence of sweet ecstasy, and his breath came into short supply.

Ivan lied a kiss upon his burning cheek and stole his body into a fast embrace as he pressed his murderer upon his back and continued to push in and out, either still moaning without shame.

"Ah! Ivan! Harder!"

The floor acquired claw marks as those requests were satisfied, and that pale body threatened to break the smaller one, either mouths open far wide. That action held a droplet of pain, but Kiku could hardly feel anything but satisfaction throughout those rushing veins.

Seconds were taken inside a different realm, when that pretty American was pounding so ruthlessly into him. It was not Ivan's shoulder's he grasped, nor Mr. Kirkland, nor any other horrid and well ugly old man. It was Alfred. And they loved one another with great and undying intensity…That was the reason why that body was so rough; so passionate…This love making was not born of need or simple boredom, but the heaviest of adoration.

It did not hold any form of pertinence that the man was drunk, and his head was likely far too clouded with the essence of utter nonsense…That he would not have made those very decisions had he been sober. He was no longer the same soul.

Ivan held tighter to Kiku's body and suddenly stopped, gasping for breath and wearing the very same expression that mirrored every pleasured man's face.

And Kiku released his vision into the great and deadly forest of reality, quiet tears rolling from the corners of his eyes. They were stolen away by clumsy thumbs and the man who had just collected that evidence of emotion lied next to the figure he had just claimed, eyes closing immediately and sleep overcoming his consciousness.

Kiku wiped the sweat from his brow with a shivering palm, and the door slid open, Yao standing at the frame and devouring that entire scene.

His eyes grew wide with shock, witnessing the bottles of devoured wine and the opium pipe, still fresh from its fire, although no one had sampled even a taste. His gaze adhered to Kiku's nudity, which was in no way hidden, nor was the flesh of that man laying at his side, having the appearance of someone who could have been well dead, yet that lifeless body was satisfied and could have lost that very soul in the essence of unfettered pleasure.

"What have you done?" The first inquiry of deep accusation reverberated from a lovely mouth softly. "What have you done?!" Yao came inside and Kiku stood, the beautiful man ignoring his entire presence and regarding the corpse that was so peacefully sent to the arms of sleep. "What happened?! Did he smoke from that pipe?!"

"Yes…He asked for some…And then he came onto me and removed my clothing. Naturally, I didn't refuse him. That wasn't my duty…" Kiku allowed his eyes brimming with malicious intent to the Russian man. "It's a shame, isn't it?"

"He wouldn't do that! He wouldn't…How could you allow him to take you? He was _mine_, Kiku…And you knew he was." The expected tears of loss descended upon that beautiful face, as the holder observed his lover's sweating body, his swollen lips and his cock, lined with a small amount of blood from his brother. "How could you?!" There was something of hysteria building inside the stomach of Yao.

Kiku moved without word to his robes and picked them up, beginning to place them around his gratified figure. The knife slipped against his leg, still holding its secret place, and had become far weightier than it had ever been in previous times, burning against the bearer's soft flesh. The handle was touched gently, and luckily, Yao had been too far upset to notice these subtle actions as they occurred.

"How could you?! I tried to help you! I _loved_ you! And this is what you do to me?! You take my man from me?! My Ivan?! Just look at him! He won't even wake up! _He could die! _His heart will stop and you'll be at blame!"

The murderer threw his hand against the screaming one's cheek, and a moment of deadly stillness inhabited the air constricting either of them. It did not last.

Yao kicked his sibling with all his rage drunken might, sending him tumbling to the floor and dying of breath. The experienced whore wasted not a single precious second in straddling the younger's suddenly filthy waste and driving his fists ruthlessly into that gorgeous visage numerous times, pounding all his fury and frustration into the other's body, as if he could not understand those horrid sentiments.

"_How could you?! He was mine!_"

When Yao's barrage of unexpected power slowly ended, Kiku was left with blood strewn upon his nose and blackened eyes. As he regained that wavering consciousness, the owner of that whip simply regarded him, all his emotion displaced upon his shapely cheeks, one dyed red from the sad and futile attempt Kiku had made.

Finally, Yao rose and turned away from the ones left so broken upon the floor, his heart aching of all the things he had given to those demons around him. It was another two items against that long and terrible list, and the one who recorded all of those sorrows felt as if he was lacking that very jewel that had kept his legs progressing forward. Again, he would retrieve that glue and all those shattered pieces and try with welling eyes to piece it all together again…Perhaps he would simply fall from an open window stories above that cruel and hard ground. There were far too many fragments this time, and all of them graded into the finest and most hateful dust.

Kiku reached for his knife and removed it from its sheath, standing carefully and running with blind and reckless eyes towards that crying soul. His sight had been knocked from his eyes, and the coherency of his thoughts came as deformed characters written in messy strokes, yet, the blade struck cleanly against Yao's defenseless back, and cut away those expensive silks, as well as tore open a great chasm in that smooth flesh. The damage was deep, and the holder of that wound fell, screaming, while heavy blood began to pool against that damaged frame.

Kiku held the blade at his side and watched as his owner, his mentor and his very brother writhed, mouth barren of comment as fettered vision drown inside that draining wound.

Were they even siblings any longer?

No…They never truly were in the first place.

And for a moment, Kiku recalled all of those happy times kept so securely at the side of Yao, the kindness and all those embraces and kisses branded against his helpless forehead, the cheek and occasionally even the mouth. He numerated all those times Yao had stolen the tears from his eyes and throat and all those instances he granted reassurance upon those falling shoulders, all of that Hope, Safety, Security, _Love_… How they would speak and laugh together as if they understood their ideals down to the very soul, and all of those times they had cried together because of that very bond…Their Family…Their life beneath that same roof and locked inside the cage of a matching and cruel fate…Their affinities for one another.

Kiku found himself to be crying, his stomach one great stewing pot of mixed emotion and profuse pain; not only beneath his skin but lapping at every crevice of his very core. He was so overwhelmed; he nearly crashed to his knees.

_In the puddle of blood he caused; that endless spring he had clawed open. _

Life poured from it, and that once shining deity became pale.

And he watched, wielding the blade that had murdered all those hopeful possibilities and the life that possessed them.

"Kiku! What have you done?!"

The assassin avoided all of those familiar voices and stepped over that lifeless body, wielding the sword and carrying that very corpse that housed his soul home, the only place left where there was solitude and quiet. 


	56. Chapter 56

Yao had disappeared. No one had seen him go, and no one knew how he had managed such a stealthy escape with such a deep wound. It was as if he had simply evaporated into that great and weighty air surrounding the entire Pavilion, and was now one of those golden clouds so many of those broken slaves had dreamed of.

Regardless, he was free. And he was gone.

Kiku awoke to the sight of a subdued Englishman sitting upon his bed, eyes buried deep within their thoughts and perhaps even the essence of nothing. He directed those dull emeralds to the chamber's owner, brows dipping and sitting upon those contemplative orbs.

"Kiku…What have you done?"

Immediately, the one addressed was taken with rage. "Oh, shut your mouth, Arthur." His body came up and those straggling instances of sleep were brushed from his aggressive lashes. "You come into my room with the look of a kicked puppy's, but you've done far worse. You've caused me to be this way; you took my virginity when I begged you to stop; you've ruined my life, snatching it from me when I was hardly old enough to know what was happening; You've destroyed Yao's numerous times over; I'd say you've ruined the lives of everyone you come into contact with. You took Alfred from me and you've stepped on all my chances of getting away from this hell; _from you._ I loved him…_I loved him._ Can you even comprehend that?

They say quiet a long moment.

"What's money to you? You have so much of it; you could likely purchase every building in the area. _What does that make me to you?_ Soon, I'll just be another whore taking up your space. _You don't love me_. You don't love anyone. You're just a fucking dog who managed to learn poor Chinese. We all speak of you when you're not around. We tell each other how ugly you are…How horrible those scars look; your broken nose and how you deserved each and every little fracture and cut Yao gave to you. No one cares about you…_No._ That's incorrect. We all acre about your life because the moment it's over, we're all going to run screaming. I'm surprised no one has killed you yet. _I'm surprised I haven't killed you yet!_ And all this mess around you; _it's all your fault._ We're all miserable thanks to everything you've done; we're all angry because of you; and we're all opium smoking lunatics because of you! I'm not even Japanese any longer, and it's no thanks to you! If you'd like to blame anyone, why don't you point that hideous finger to yourself?! Don't you come walking into my room and begin asking me _what I've done!_ _What have you done, Arthur?!_ Can you even numerate all the lives you've eaten, all the lives you've ruined and all the lives you've _ended_ for your own greed?!"

Nothing sat upon that accused tongue.

"When you come to a conclusion with all of that, I'll be willing to listen…But the fact that you're questioning me about _my actions_…My goodness.It's just too funny for words."

And there were none.

"Why don't you go? I've got nothing left to say to you."

Mr. Kirkland did not move, but sat in his place, welling in all the misery the younger had just stabbed into his very blood. "I'm sorry, Kiku…"

"Sorry? _Sorry?! _Where was sorry when you had beaten me so many times?! Where was sorry when you raped me?! Where was sorry when you sent Alfred away from me?! Where was sorry when you stole my life?! Where was sorry when you devoured my language?! _When you've caused me to be this way?!_ Bitter and angry! Where are all of those apologies, Mr. Kirkland?! I must be blind!"

Finally, tears of quiet rage descended upon those quivering cheeks and that shaken visage, and Kiku's once beautiful eyes held all the intent to kill.

"Where are they Arthur?! Show me!"

Finally, the white man simply left that chamber, his heart adopting marks of an iron brand against his heart.

And Kiku lied amongst those blind sheets, and allowed all of those pained sobs from his lips, all his emotion draining from those coal hued eyes.

He had not felt such anger in the duration of his borrowed life. It was as though his body had experienced all he was never able to feel, those emotions stowed away within Mr. Kirkland's silver cage. Each and every one of those fragments was returned to him in a great of flood of undesired generosity, the dam holding the almighty ocean shattering against that relentless impact, and the man left helplessly behind it drowning.

Yes… Kiku was a man now, in some odd way. He had grown from that sweet and affectionate _kokeshi _into a rage possessed and vengeful creature.

That was all that men were.

Screams nearly accompanied those sobs, hand trying to stop all those horrid crystals of unfixable harm. Yet they came, and had refused to stop.

As he calmed, he slept, and in those dreams sweet supposed to be as unfettered sugar, feeling built as acid welled within his throat. It was not only guilt, nor pain, nor greed, nor his loss of all that love. It was everything.

When the Russian awoke to his naked from and the mess spread all about the floor as a broken lake lying about a shattered city, he knew that something of terrible mishap had occurred, and that very concern sampled his blood and waked in noisy screams about his core. He stood and replaced his blouse, pulled those wrinkled trousers around his waist and sealed that button. He strained out those tangled and light strands and tried with all his determination to undo the discomfort writhing inside his skull.

He remembered blurred shouting…And fighting, yet he could not identify the words thrown as spears, nor the cause of that horrid war.

Ivan stumbled into Yao's room after several flights of struggle and found crimson upon those sheets, the owner of those threatening stains not present. Immediate worry affected him as a potent drug, yet, he could not move those limbs, so affected with sudden stone. His mind pushed through that ache to try and find the reason of that awful canvas and the absence of the man who he had given so much of his weighty heart to, but nothing could be recovered from that deadly haze.

Shame possessed him, and Ivan left Yao's room, determined to return at another time as his heart flooded with imminent concern.

He hoped that Yao did not witness that brief and reckless act; it had not been intended. The one who had lost so much essence and went still held that core within his gorgeous hands.

The Russian left that Pavilion, his entire being submerged in multiple instances of pain and utter confusion. Stomach and logic writhed in the residue from the night before, and core drenched in concern built of all his undying adoration.


	57. Chapter 57

Two weeks had fallen into shallow graves, and Ivan had not seen Yao. That once happy smile had dissolved beneath a great veil of ugly mystery, and the Russian man was left with a mourning heart.

He had gone back to the Pavilion. He had gone back numerous times, yet he still found his darling to be missing, and it placed his chest deep into a civil war started due to foolish word and crushing regret.

Without Yao, something inside him had expired, and all those familiar yet strangely new sights caused his stomach to writhe. Without that wondrous and shining man, who he had such strong intentions of making his very own, the stares upon his back were unbearable, they were no longer pebbles sent against that naked skin but boulders with edges sharp as broken glass. It had become painful to utilize that language he had devoted so very much to, and the Russian no longer wished to lay that azure glance upon those golden people, who had taken him before, who had nourished instantaneous hatred for the color of that light flesh and hue of those beautiful eyes. They could never appreciate them, and Ivan was not allowed hope for a similar soul such as Yao, who adored every last section of that eyesore of a figure, and kept them so very near in proximity to that livid heart.

So Ivan walked those streets, planning to return to his home land with an aching tale and a core condensed to the finest of sand. At least the people of his own race would not persecute him for being born Russian. They were all lost within the arms of the same fate.

In all his thoughts, he passed one of those lovely buildings with something as a withered animal coiled against its supportive frame. His attention adhered to that odd collection of blood and flesh, his body ceasing its progression forward and allowing his finest judgment against that ragged creature. Quiet sobs arose from its stifled mouth and had the appearance of enduring great pain.

For a moment, Ivan regarded the sky, stray droplets of God's emotion falling upon his nose. The clouds had taken the deep depression of grey, and it seemed as though it would begin its downpour of insatiable depression at any given moment.

"…Hello?" The Russian called, still placed several steps away from that possible candidate of a rabid animal. "Are you alright?"

A response did not arise from that body, and the larger man approached with excess caution, his entire figure caught in the extensive holds of worry and safety. It would not bring any form of surprise if an attack was unleashed against his limbs and middle, although it was difficult to believe that anyone would even attempt to mar Ivan Braginski's powerful flesh.

"Hello?"

The creature held dried blood against its back, as well as a festering and uncomfortable scab, and for a brief moment, Ivan recalled that very stain marring the crisp sheets set within his former lover's chamber.

"…Yao?"

The monster so lost inside filth looked lazily to the man at the sound of his name, biting in that lip before releasing more hideous winces of his imminent discomfort. That once gorgeous hair and face were strewn in dirt and mud, yet were something reminiscent and held a sort of appeal against those dirtied features. There was much potential for beauty. And the man who usually owned those features did not live inside them, and was chained to the suffering of withdrawal, what visible flesh left available coded in a sickly pale hue, and his entire figure made even worse by the sweat he had been showered in. He stole heavy breath and gave an occasional moan, attentiveness at a deep loss and that vision hardly focused on the man before him, although those ink occupied orbs were well directed towards Ivan.

"Yao!" The Russian came to his knees and placed his arms around that broken and filthy man, holding his limp body inside a supporting and loving embrace, heart ready to accept that soul in any state he had found it in, when so many others would be frightened of getting their hands dirtied.

"Ivan…" A disturbed palm took the shoulder of that savior, and the man who possessed it had never felt such overtaking grace.

His upset regarding that handsome man withered as an ember subjected to the coolest of water, and something soothing over took all of those crying nerves. Since Yao had ran that night, all his thoughts had whirled around his mind as an angry and lost typhoon, considerations devouring that scene constructed so brutally and all his rage forming towards that former admirer, as well as the generous donor of his weeping back. Yet, now that he was presented so beautifully before him, and he was kept as a jewel within those angelic arms, he felt no such bitter emotion. Yao has still loved Ivan with such great magnitude, and the very possibility that anyone was present to uproot him from that rancid soil eating him alive was more then he could ever demand.

"Yao, I'm so sorry…" And that fantastic being was subdued to guilt for even allowing the other into that very dust. "May I take you back with me?"

It took a long moment for the weakened deity to respond, not because he needed moments to contemplate his response, but because he required the breath to project it. "…Please."

Ivan lifted Yao as if he was carrying a small and wounded animal, and had Yao been in any other state, he would have been deeply impressed, yet he was worn and delusion flashed about his mind clearly as reality, and his entire vision, like the state of his battered skin, had become marred and coded in muck. But that fantastic Russian still shined perpetually as the sun in its prime, and there was not a single cloud placed amongst the plain Ivan resided.

Blistered vision sampled his captor, his savior, with a definite element of gratefulness. And his hands struggled for a place upon that chest so brimming with unlimited warmth in their travel, almost as a makeshift embrace.

Droplets of water crashed from the sky, and Yao soon found his whipped flesh and shattered bones within a peaceful room, lying upon a crisp quilt, quiet breath taken inside and pushed out of his gaping mouth. Those orbs were still given to that strange room, and his gaze met with the pale man's, eyes containing every last truth his mouth could not possibly attempt to expel.

Yao's muscles still cramped and his very marrow screamed of the excruciating pain instilled upon it, but something within that churning stomach was content, and he found himself within a familiar sky of utter euphoria and heaven, flying as he held his darling's hand as a precious stone worth so much more than every fragment of his awful and misused life.

"…Thank you…"

There was only a large and seemingly worn hand upon his cheek and a kiss granted to his sweaty brow, all donned while the man who possessed them tried with all that was left inside that heart not to begin sobbing.

Yao had slept for hours, occasionally producing cries within his dreams, in addition to those irregular soft and vexed moans, yet his lover did not mind them, nor did he leave Yao alone to the demons struggling within his organs. That shining man remained at his side from the moment he sat upon the very same plain, to the moment those gorgeous eyes flashed open.

That horrid withdrawal had calmed for the time being, a raging sea that had done its damage and found nothing else to destroy , although there was still a mild amount of lingering atrophy set beneath that skin. The bloodied man found himself in the loyalty to the soul set so loyally at his flank.

"Ivan?"

"Yes?" His voice came softer than newly fashioned silks.

"May I bathe…And will you help me? I don't want to drown…But I don't want to dirty your bed any further."

"Of course…Yao?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry…For everything. And I still love you. I've never stopped loving you. I can't even tell you how relieved I am to see you and I won't let anything like what occurred happen a second time. That is, if you'd be willing to stay…I'm uncertain as to what had come over me, and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am."

"...I need to know something."

"What is it?"

"…Are you an opium addict?"

"No…I've never tried it before in my life, and I have no intentions of starting."

"Hmm…" Yao closed those heavy eyes for seconds that required centuries, screaming his thanks to every last existing deity. "…I was lied to."

"By Kiku?"

"Yes…" Finally, Yao managed to stay sitting up long enough to contain his composure.

"Well…I'm not an opium addict…And I did become intimate with Kiku, but I'm certain he came onto me first after serving me quite a bit of alcohol…And again, I'm sorry. You're the only one that I love, and I won't allow anything like that to reoccur…I'm sorry that I've hurt you."

"You haven't hurt me. I've just hurt myself…What was I to expect? We were whores at a whore house…I'm angry with Kiku, but…perhaps I've brought this upon myself in some way." Yao paused a moment and peeled away old flesh from his dry lips with two filthy nails. "Will you allow me to stay with you? It's greedy to even ask, but I've wanted to be yours the moment our eyes connected. I won't go running off with any other man and I won't stay a whore. I'll stop smoking opium, although I'll likely need help, and I promise I'll be good to you. I'll do whatever you like, from kissing your cheek to stealing jewels from the emperor's fingers. Just as long as you'll allow me to belong to you…And you'll allow me to call you mine."

"Of course you can! I was always yours…" Ivan stole Yao's shattered body into a warm grasp and gave that dirt cluttered cheek a heavy and shameless embrace of lips. "I love you. And I'd like nothing more than for you to be with me. I would _kill _the emperor, if that's what you'd like…Anything. Just as long as you're mine."

"Of course…" Yao still held a cage of hyper butterflies within his center when that man embraced him, when he spoke, when he admired him with those azure jewels. There was no better figure set within his life, and the mere knowledge that Yao given the ability to hold him and love him so unconditionally brought him enough bliss to close each and every cut inflicted upon his worn frame. The very situation placed tears against his burning eyes, and he did not have the need of shame for each little emotion that came leaking upon those once marred cheeks. No longer did he need to flaunt himself as a ruined diamond, a possession for everyman to borrow and wear as a comfortable leather glove. Yao possessed his own life, which he gladly set upon Ivan's trustworthy palms within a golden chest, complete with lock and flawless key.

His soul was free of that awful demon and that Goddamn Pavilion, and all he was granted the apt to do was release a sob of utter bliss and relief that healed every last word he carried within that damaged throat. That raw lashing kept upon his back did not even contain all that agony it was meant to. Yao could finally throw that scar into the hands of sweet and unfettered time, and move forward, running from those expensive chains that bound him, bits and pieces of that iron falling from his fingers and his muscles rushed into a new and beautiful direction, legs becoming renewed with his growing strength and that already shimmering smile more gorgeous with each and every pace he passed with quick sols.

Finally, Yao had taken his beams back from all that had oppressed him, and it would have not been done without the help of that happy Russian wrapped so loyally around his dirtied body.

Perhaps he should have been in a state of outrage, but he simply could not be. There was no frigidness left within that once heavy marrow towards the savior, not after all the immaculate deeds completed beneath his powerful appendages. Far too much love had been implored between those synthesizing and beating hearts, which they knitted handsomely together by the strongest of ruby thread.

Yao's day had finally been set upon the earth, and that shimmering key had finally been bestowed upon his tired hands.

As the former prostitute calmed, he moved a few tears from his filthy and stinking cheeks, giving those blackened jewels to the man who had filled that empty soul with such undying vigor.

"I have one more question, and that's all…"

"Yes? What is it?"

"Will you allow me to wear trousers and a tunic? I'm so tired of robes and make-up…I'd like to be a man now…Is that alright?"

Ivan simply kissed his forehead. "You can walk around nude if you'd like to. Wear whatever you'd like to wear. You'll always be beautiful."

"Thank you…"

"I have a question as well."

"What is it?"

"Will you come back to Russia with me? I know I'm asking a lot…But I'm unsure if I can stay here forever, and I'll always want you at my side."

For a moment, Yao's pretty mouth curled with his entire core shimmering loudly. "Well…I'm fairly certain that learning Russian and going home with you fall somewhere in between a kiss on the cheek and stealing from the emperor…Will you teach me how to speak to everyone? I'm certain I'll need a few friends."

"Yes! I would love to…I'll help you with anything you need."

"Thank you, Ivan…"

Shortly after a long and amorous embrace, that large man lifted his beauty from his tired heels and took him to clean all that dirt from his calmed body.


	58. Chapter 58

Days past and Kiku had become numb. His emotions seemed to fall from his body easily as his silk, and his corpse was left a shell to sit beneath the bodies of others and drift along the corridors as a ghost, his legs moving and his direction far beyond his own control. With Yao's expulsion, he no longer wore the mask of a servant, and with all those sharp words empty of regret, he was left to his own discretion until the clients came to him as flowing water from a great fountain. There was always a deceiving veil of charm and seduction, but it was faux, just as all those pleasured moans and pretty smiles.

The world residing around his shifting figure and all its once vibrant hues had all broken to grey, his body a blank canvas and all the colors attempting to afflict it left to a blank statement. Even Kiku, the child once so happily a resilient pink and red was kept white.

He only spoke to others when they had spoken to him primarily, and there were very few who had the authority and gull to do so. He grew accustomed to those stares composed of great hatred, all the contributors once acquaintances of that missing deity. Yet, Kiku did not care. There were no regards allowed to any one thing. His body was left a fruitless vessel, all the emotion captured about his skin made so wholly over that stolen Russian, and even those bruises began to wither.

If he was allowed each of those hanging thoughts, he would likely be crushed by oppression born of deep misery, yet none of those eager intruders had the equipment to shatter his thick armor, placed around him tightly as his very own flesh, usually coded by ivory and crimson and all the robes he was forced to acquire nightly.

And a day came to match all the others, Mr. Kirkland sat with that soulless form against that loving hold made of stone, surrounded by a lovely tree, yet did not make progression towards him. There would be little reaction in either dilemma.

"What is it, Arthur?"

"…I've come to tell you something."

"Well, I don't see why you're hesitating."

Somehow, as every item revolving around them, the Englishman had become a lesser version of himself. The new man was battered and bruised for his continuous coolness, and he had caused that empty canvas all sorts of awful magenta splatters, but not even a mild cry had been released from the other's mouth. And with no outlet for that once insatiable rage, it welled inside of the bearer and caused that once loud heart to shrivel into an ugly and monotone sphere.

"I've bought Hong from Francis Bonnefeuille."

"Why would you need to tell me that?"

"Well…He's likely going to want to see Yao, and considering how you've sent him away…I'm willing to bet he's going to want your life as soon as he finds out…He might already know. Gossip always spreads like fire around here."

The prostitute did not make reply or even cause any evidence of consideration. Dead eyes lied against that very same grass that had been there for possibly centuries, and his hand fell against his lap as dead leaves without the help of wind.

"Are you worried about me, Arthur?"

"No. Of course not." A kiss was pressed upon Kiku's placid cheek; no mild amount of pink grown and hardly even a register for that short event. "I just thought it would be fair if you knew."

"Fair. What an interesting word."

The Englishman regarded his counterpart with critical eyes and furrowed brows broken of weighty and constant frustration. "Will anything make you happy?"

"Give me back Alfred and kill yourself."

"Kiku, you don't honestly believe that you're going to have your stupid American back, do you? Because he's not going to return. You might as well just let him go."

Kiku drove his hand against the other's cheek with all the strength that arm contained, not as much as a single thought possessing that reactive limb. There was simply unfelt rage and warning leaving evidence against that revered cheek. When Mr. Kirkland gave that uncontrollable donor of pain a meaningful regard, he simply found the other to be sick with a face not possessing anything more than flesh, and eyes left without care or feeling.

Yes. Arthur Kirkland had killed him, and there was little retrieving that former life.

"Are you going to apologize?"

"No." The dead did not place importance against fear, and without that usual necessity, Arthur did not hold even a droplet of power within that gilded cup.

It was pointless to strike him.

So Arthur left Kiku to his own realm of yin.

And the artist of that bruise did not wonder at the holder's actions.

Later that evening, Hong arrived and was given claim to Kiku's room while all of those possessions came into the missing addict's chamber. The Japanese man's standing was higher than that of Hong's, and thus was given such a place to match that very status.

Regardless, there were no other rooms left to occupy.

The space had not been cleaned of its original possessions, and the moment those expensive feet moved past that widened porthole, his mind flooded with memories he had not seen for weeks stretching into the expanse of weighty years. All the blood had been cleaned from those sheets, and that was truly the only thing that had altered.

Kiku was not shaken when he found Hong standing at his door, simply staring with hatred churning inside that stomach. His body was aflame with the heat of rage, and serpents lived within those dark gems.

Nothing came from that glowing mouth, and eventually, feet carried his figure away, leaving Kiku to that universe made of past occurrences. Not a drop of blood was stirred within him.

And days continued to pass; the former child staring at the Japanese man with eyes composed to the sharpest of thought, yet so few words came from the mouth attached beneath all that livid upset. Hong would simply stare.

Finally, a voice was raised.

"There isn't much point in glaring at me if you're not even going to speak. It really just makes you look stupid."

"_I'm_ stupid, am I?"

"I'm beginning to believe so."

Hong came into his former sibling's domain and stood behind that well hated assassin, who refused to turn his gaze towards the one so ready to accuse.

"Fine. I think you're sick for doing what you had. _How could you? _Yao loved you, and I know he did. Sometimes I think he loved you more than he did me. _And I was never even able to see him. _How do you live with yourself? He was good to you, and you cut him up, _like a butcher_, and seem like you don't even care! Have you even considered the possibility that he might be dead?!"

"No."

"Look at me!"

Kiku finally allowed his sight against the other's whore's visage, whose breath was running low and whose eyes were likely ready to flood with the essence of all his deeply meant words.

"I wanted to speak to him…It had been years, and you took him from me. You sent my brother away. He could be dead and you don't even care…"

"Hong, you didn't want to see your brother. He had become nothing but an addict. Why would you want to watch him turn into something worse each day and possibly die of an overdose? I spend nearly all of my hours tending to him; sometimes even dressing and bathing him. You were lucky…You didn't have to watch him become something he was not. You didn't have to assist him when he was too intoxicated to even speak coherently. I didn't send Yao away. He left."

A few tears descended upon Hong's calming face.

"And it's better to be anywhere but here."

A golden palm came upon those apples and removed the dew gathered there, that gaze adhering to the host of that sad reunion as well as the one who had banished and saved Yao all at one time.

"So stop glaring at me."

The intruder simply turned and left that new ruler to his kingdom.


	59. Chapter 59

Kiku sat within his room, legs curled beneath his weight and fingers busy with cleaning his nails, which were ready to lose blood. He was patient for night to come, and he would wait again to come home in the early morning, when the sun drifted into that expansive sky he was not allowed to possess, and supplied light to all the inhabitants of that universe caught beneath it.

Usually, Kiku would have fallen into a land of dreams in his unused time, yet his mind was far too disorganized with all his contemplation, not just found in one section in that great and strange epic, but all the fragments of his shattered life, and his palms held his very essence as he tried with great determination to piece each reluctant bit of glass into its original format.

He knew it was unhealthy to focus upon each of those horrible events that had left ugly welds upon his flesh, some being cuts and others loud and twisted bruises of faux and confused love, but it was as if all his troubles had come together in a filial sort of funeral, and each of their demanding fists pounded against his door composed solely of straw and hope, demanding their entrance and retribution, as well as his very blood to complete their chalices as the finest and most expensive of wine.

His face did not show that battle happening upon the other side of that heavy porthole. Those features were left something serine, unmoved by the conflict fought beneath his skin.

Finally, Kiku's fingernail bled, and without a single protest built of the pain he had brought upon his own hand, his thumb found sanctuary within his mouth, eyes shifting to that window. Dull light filtered in, yet it was not raining or cloudy, or in any sort of manner foul. That portal was simply closed, and something about that very knowledge twisted the owner's stomach into a great and uncomfortable knot.

His legs brought him to his tired feet, walking towards that censored light as a moth to a murderous flame. Bleeding fingertips came onto that very frame and pulled away the slight darkness residing over the true article.

A bright beam fluttered upon his face, his eyes blinking rapidly and his palms coming before those untrained eyes. A long breath curled within his chest and shattered the ice that had formed all around that area; the very first inhale after his very death.

Kiku was breathing, his veins rushing wildly with that seemingly unfamiliar sensation of life.

He had allowed those demons outside through that window, and the waste land they had made of him screamed of its pain. Their drunken parties and even their numerous beating had numbed him, yet they had all expired within that gorgeous flow of undying light.

Eyes adhered to the window, all the steel planted around him falling against the floor, those plates that once oppressed his chest clattered to the man's feet, and his breath became uneven, rapid and alive.

It was as though he had been encased in overbearing water, and finally, he had opened his eyes and was pulled to the surface by the means of a mysterious hand.

And he lied upon the shore, his naked flesh coded in coarse sand and seaweed and sharp urchins that drew crimson upon his fresh lily white skin. It marked the lids of his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, and even the tips of those well created ears. Yet, those pools of blood did not spread; only remained to their assigned cages, waiting with loyalty and stupidity inside the world they could have taken.

Finally, Kiku rose and regarded the sea that had once held him at such a close proximity; the place that had nearly drowned him inside that relentless hold; the place that had suffocated him and kept all the pain away from his struggling form, until he struggled no longer. He was still not allowed his sentiments.

Yet, now that he could see that marred shore, and he was granted the ability to take in the air whirling in such a rampage around him, he was bestowed with all those weeks' truths and words and the regret that had come so strongly connected with their odd shapes.

It hit as a mallet to a sensitive porcelain vase.

Yet, Kiku did not find tears within his eyes, only screaming pain beneath inside his heavy corpse.

Following possessive impulse, he sat before Yao's chest and brought out all of those memories left for what might as well have been centuries, old wounds tearing open as he pulled away each article.

He witnessed those photographs of Hong and all of those missing remnants of the life he had banished. He found the opium container, the fragments of make-up, brushes dropped and forgotten, articles of expensive jewelry unreliable loves had bestowed upon his fine wrists and neck for all those years. He held the hair pieces, the beautiful paintings so many had done for that revered figure, and the pearls Ivan Braginski had given him in all his passionate adoration.

Finally, he his hands held ancient rice paper dappled in ink, drawings brought into existence beneath an inexperienced hand, the medium that had constructed that representation being too far familiar.

They were paintings of Yao Kiku had crafted in his affection all those hurtful years ago, his beautiful face made disfigured within that childish ink, yet he had kept each and every addition that child had attempted, and he did not allow even a single imperfection against that aging paper. They all lied flat beneath those countless possessions, not even a dent marking those terrible pages. Great care was taken of their very appearance, and they were left untouched and unfettered.

Finally, realization had began in Kiku's chest and ended against those burning cheeks, hands covering that warped pair of lips and stifling each of those impassioned sobs. His eyes shut tightly and his understood crystalline emotion formed against his crushed lashes.

Yes…A horrible mistake had been carried out.

And Kiku dropped his blades.


	60. Chapter 60

That visitor was regarded with shock inside the viewer's core, eyes wide open and lips parted in the anticipation for words.

"Oh look…It's you."

"Ivan…What are you doing back?" The man who had caused so much damage stepped outside that door and into the light of day, fully visible and defenseless to the man standing so weightily before him. "I never expected you to return."

"No. And normally, I wouldn't have come back to this awful place…But I had heard that Yao's brother was here. I've come for a visit."

"…Are you finished loving Yao?"

"Of course I'm not." The Russian man glanced at each corner of that enemy town and gave those familiar sapphires to the one placed before the beholder's frame. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this…But Yao's staying with me. I found him on the street, so I took him back…And if you tell anyone _I promise you_, you'll regret it."

"I won't say a word…" Kiku's brows seemed to drop a moment in all his contemplation, and finally, those thoughtful eyes filled with all he wished to speak and were sacrificed to the man who truly did not want them. "…May I tell you something?"

"Of course you can, but I'm not guaranteed to listen."

A gulp passed along that throat so full of message, and once more, Kiku offered those new eyes, no longer welling with the lies that had once covered him tightly as the flesh of others. "I'm sorry…I'm unsure of why I was so angry…I think my entire life had finally eaten away at me. But that's not an excuse. What I had done was wrong, and I'd like to apologize…So again, I'm sorry."

Ivan lost some of the rage he held about that snow hued visage and gave all his attention to the one speaking.

"I would also like to ask a favor, although I haven't earned any such thing."

"What is it?"

"May I come back with you to apologize to Yao? Not to stay…But only to apologize."

"…I suppose so. But you should know that if you try to damage him again, you'll have me to deal with."

As kind as Ivan Braginski could be, he possessed the ability to be just as intimidating.

"I have no intention of harming anyone."

"Good. You're welcome to come back with me when my business is done with Arthur."

"Thank you." Kiku allowed the Russian inside, and guided him to the English demon's chamber. The Japanese man went inside primarily, calling out that terrible dragon from his secretive cave, only to be told to wonder to the creature they had sought.

Ivan entered that sacred domain, staring at the man who took inhabitance of that misplaced realm.

"What did you come for, Braginski? I'm sure you're aware that Yao hasn't come back and likely never will."

"Yes. I am; but that's not what I came for."

"Then what _did _you come for?"

"I've heard that Yao had a little brother and he's here."

"So you'd like an appointment?"

"No. I want to purchase him."

"_What?_ You haven't even met Hong yet. Are you _that _desperate for another whore? Well, at least that one doesn't smoke opium. All that nonsense was beginning to get under my skin."

Ivan's stomach churned at any negative thoughts pointed in the direction of his most cherished love, yet he was forced to swallow the bile that welled against his throat.

"So…You've come to buy him?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you buy Kiku instead?"

The one who had just been mentioned stared at his owner an expansive moment, a sort of shock inhabiting him, and mixing with a near fragment of understanding. The man who had obsessed over him and raped him had offered to sell him; to terminate his presence for good. The man who had confessed love to him tried to give away to another, never to lay eyes upon his revered flesh again. Arthur had attempted to rid himself of Kiku, as if he had become a great burden to an already weighted down spine, and in a way he had, but the sting of that great rejection still hurt and still evoked the emotions it very well should have inside the Japanese man's core.

"I don't want to buy Kiku…"

Arthur stared at the large man standing so patiently across from him a lengthily amount of time, all of those calculations scraped upon his brow with a sharp pick, as if his thoughts were offered to the entire world's literature.

"Well…Fine. Pay me now and you can see him tonight. If he's not to your liking, I'll simply deduct the cost of the visit, and if you do want to keep him, you can come by in the morning."

"I'll return later, then."

"Peachy."

As Ivan surrendered that weighty amount of currency, likely the same money that he would have utilized to free Yao, Kiku watched in something as sickness as his heart set as the sun into the horizon built of churning innards. Mr. Kirkland offered him the occasional glance as his greedy hands were filled, and Kiku could see the love that had become so ill within his eyes. It was in dire condition and would soon pass, that affection meant to be buried within a special place against the Pavilion's filthy soil, where so many like it had fallen.

The two intruders left together, and no words launched from their heavy mouths as their paths lead them away from that glorious hell hole labeled in rusting letters, gold proving to be nothing but gilded and cheap.

Kiku followed Ivan all throughout those bustling and dirty streets, the entire town seeming to fall into an entirely new occupation of rancid. More Europeans had taken residence and came to bask in that painful daylight, without even a hint of shame at the color of their pasty skin or the words aggressively dropping from their tongues. For a moment, Kiku felt himself fall into their group of foreigners, and he had never wanted to land beneath that rising red sun any longer. He was not like them. It did not matter that his origin was that of the boat. His skin was a pale gold, and his eyes were hued of deep and meaningful ink… yet, somehow he still fell into their lowly category, inside their ignorant world without embarrassment…and he was lost inside every Chinese man's flesh as well.

He was in a place he did not belong to, no matter how his face was construed.

"Kiku, we're here…"

"Oh…Thank you." The smaller followed the larger into that bustling place, so full of odd smells and sights and other such foreigners with that familiar light mess of follicles and oddly pigmented eyes. Kiku was brought to a chamber within that compound of rooms, and as the door opened, the man with his heart screaming so very loudly saw a familiar set of features, so very mirrored they did not seem tangible. That lovely face was set upon the wrong body, covered humbly by a tunic and simple trousers.

"…Kiku?"

"Yao? Is that you?"

"No. Not for you." Those reminiscent eyes clothed in scarlet so many times over bounded to the Russian man. "What is he doing here?"

"He came to apologize to you…I thought it was only fair that I offered him the chance."

Kiku stared at that man who had been his brother so long, feeling dimensions apart. Yao was dressed as a man, something the beholder had never witnessed, and Kiku a gorgeous woman. It was difficult to even accept it into those lost and groping hands. A moment came when Kiku did not think he actually knew this attractive man standing so patiently before him, still drowning in all his imminent beauty, yet did not house the bruises of Mr. Kirkland's misguided affections, or the silks of a concubine. His hair was not woven into a complex bun; it lapped against his shapely back and was held by a single red tie kissing so easily to the nape of his cleaned neck. Even addiction could not place its filthy black finger tips against that vibrant and newly born skin. That life had become that of a phoenix, the old and withered dying away as the young and strong sprung from the ashes of that very same figure. Yao had reincarnated, and he seemed so very much like himself.

"Well, Kiku…I thought that if I saw you again, I would try to take your life…But now that you're here before me, I can't do anything but stare at you."

"Yao…I-"

"No. We're going to sit down first. I'm not going to stand while listening to you." His words had even become something renewed, their power nearly bringing the younger life upon his knees.

"Would you like some privacy?" And the Russian felt as though he had not the right to witness their messages.

"If you'd like to give us any, darling…Do as you please."

Ivan left a kiss upon Yao's forehead and was banished from his very own kingdom.

In the former ruler's absence, Kiku and Yao took residence within the center of that revolving universe and their gazes locked seconds of great duration, neither of their spectacular lips refusing to spit their thoughts from their searing throats.

The assassin of that glowing phoenix had tears welling behind his eyes at all the wrong he had committed and at all the right he wanted to make.

"I'd like to speak first."

"Yes, of course."

And Yao began. "…I'd like to begin by saying that I understand. There is always a breaking point…I had nearly beat Arthur to death with that ugly machine, and everyone was convinced he would die…And after that, my pain was drown in opium and everyone around me was hurt unnecessarily. And I apologize for that. I had thought a long time and realized having to take care of me for so long likely didn't assist you in any way. And I know what it feels like to lose someone you loved so dearly. I'm not sure if anyone knows better than I do. Regardless, it hurts that you tried to take from me. I realize what you must have felt, because we had all felt it a thousand times over…And I know I had caused you pain…But Kiku, I loved you enough to help you through anything…Not even Alfred loved you that much." A long pause was taken as more speech flooded upon Yao's tongue. "It was wrong that you tried to take my life…When I was likely the only one who did not try to hurt you, and again, I apologize…But I wasn't myself. _You know I wasn't myself_…But even in all that ruin, I loved you, and I tried." A few tears broke upon those cheeks. "I truly did try…But it was more than difficult to get everything back together…I needed held no one around me could give. Not even Ivan could assist me, not there…It was imperative that I had gone." The prostitute was regarded with eyes welling with emotion perhaps never properly expressed. "Perhaps…Without what you had done, I wouldn't be sitting here now, without make-up, or pearls, or even my health. It was a long wait to die…So, in some odd way, I have to thank you. I couldn't continue on there…And in the worst way, you had set me free."

And just as they had foreshadowed their impending arrival, those droplets found refuge against Kiku's flushing skin, and for the first time after that lengthily expanse, Yao did not wipe them away. Either had the same outbreak composed of completely different causes.

"I'm sorry, Yao…I was so wrong and so upset, I couldn't even see clearly…That wasn't me. Because I love you…I was so foolish. You're right…I tried to destroy you and you were the one who cared enough to stay and listen…I'm so sorry." More sobs arrived into that swirling atmosphere and time was consumed as the owner of those cried swallowed each of them as a different sip of sobering medicine. "What I had done was horrible…And I'm sorry that I allowed it to happen without even thinking about who I truly was…Because the true me hasn't stopped loving you…And there's nothing more foolish than destroying your family…" Kiku's sleeve devoured that heavy pain. "I'm sorry for ruining your back…And I'm sorry about all the awful things I had said...I'm sorry tried to take Ivan, and I'm sorry you were never given a way out of that horrible place sooner…Maybe we should have just ran for our lives."

"Yes…Maybe we should have."

Finally, that weeping soul was taken into a long embrace, held near to that radiating life with such a tender heart. He was warm as a fire caught within the depths of winter and beautiful as the first sunrise of the year.

"I forgive you Kiku…And I'm so relieved you came to me and apologized…I didn't want to hate you for the rest of my life. I'm not even certain that I could."

"Thank you…"

"Kiku…" A few fingers placed those short locks behind that reddened ear just as they had so many times previously. "…This is possibly the last time that you'll see me."

"Why?" They broke apart to regard one another, those bruised eyes melding in the touching of two lonely souls.

"I agreed to go to Russia with Ivan… He's been teaching me to speak the language and it's likely we'll leave at the end of the month…" That shining palm settled against that washed apple. "So thank you…"

"_Russia?_ What are you going to do?" Kiku nearly laughed from all his relief and the happiness he held for his elder brother, who he thought he would never see so very free and thriving. "It's so different there…"

"I'm going to get out of here…And of course it will be different. I'm so tired of this place…There are so many foreigners, how can it even be called 'China' any longer? No one's Chinese here. I might as well go to Russia, where Russians are Russians and there's no debate about it. So…I suppose we'll have to say good-bye…"

"Good-bye, Yao…I'm sorry, and I'd like to thank you for everything…I love you."

"I love you too…" It was surprising those words poured with such ease; the liquid supposed to be thick as honey and even more rancid than a sewer's spit arrived the consistency of water from the purest of springs. "I'll hope the best for you…And I'll try to send you a letter or two, although I'm not certain I want Arthur to know where I am…I'm finally away from that nightmare."

"I understand…"

"Thank you." Yao kissed the grown child's cheek for the very last time. "Perhaps in the next life…"

Simply, they embraced and did not let go for moments composed of the sweetest of centuries, their limbs frozen and their happiness pouring from their eyes as the great fountain of youth. Neither wanted to allow the other alone, their hearts molding into one great mound of smooth and pliable clay.

Kiku walked to the Pavilion with a long chapter of that expansive book finished, and he found his consciousness and his living core to be renewed of the finest of materials. Finally, that weight built of rage, sorrow, and greed was taken by a large hand from the crushed man's back and thrown far into those shimmering mountains, never to be located a second time. That body trapped so long beneath it could finally look towards that sky without a horrid struggle, and he could allow all of that sugary air into his void lungs.


	61. Chapter 61

Finally, Kiku found himself at peace, lying within Yao's bed and looking into that opened portal, his face was washed in that same light that had brought him before that reborn deity, and the same light that allowed him such nirvana.

All the hatred within his heart had been devoured by that beaming sun, black scraped away and white porcelain smooth as an egg buried beneath it.

His eyes moved towards that window, and his lips stretched with a sense of euphoria.

Nothing had truly changed, yet the entire world was restored within bright colors, vibrant and florid inside their very prime.

Those old sheets even felt crisp as new silks.

And that peaceful man no longer wore dark colors.

Those fantastic jewels slept beneath blankets and those stained lips pressed pleasantly together, that warmth surrounding him, allowing sweet dreams to envelope his mind within their sweet haze.

Hong had departed that morning. All his things had been packed in careful chests and hauled away to Ivan's little estate. Kiku did not know what his fate held within those rich palms, nor did he feel envious or angry with his own place left inside the Pavilion. There were contemplations regarding apologizing to Hong as well for all his cool words, but with such luck, he did not to hear any other news than his own freedom. He had finally gotten his brother back after so many painful years of separation. Nothing he would have said could have held any pertinence.

Kiku allowed his hand to pass over the cat's white fur, wondering where he had gone all that time…It was as if Bái had disappeared and returned, now settled so pleasantly against the healing prostitute.

Serenity had washed over him, and he found himself inside a great garden full of blossoming cherry trees and smiling chrysanthemums. It was a place he belonged, and in that wondrous dream, he felt as if he had found somewhere of the utmost comfort.

Just as he was then…

Kiku opened his eyes and released a long sigh, not of upset or irritation but of heavy contentment.

Yes, he had made right of the wrong he had created and there was no better feeling in the world.

Kiku did not do anything that day, only allowed his shimmering wells of ink their covers, something they had not had comfortably for all that wretched time.


	62. Chapter 62

And yet again, Kiku found himself upon that seat, his eyes sorting through pretty light and his mouth quietly asking questions he had locked deep within his plated heart. There was little anger that had remained within that once heavy chest, and his eyes were blessed with the sight of man's whose life had long left him, searching through each of those events as if they had occurred thousands of years ago.

And in that thick field of peaceful contemplation, Arthur Kirkland took residence at the side of that great statue kept so submerged in his very mind, an entirely separate universe forming around his frame as if that skin was submerged inside the clearest of springs. Those emeralds took in that distracted soul with gentle eyes, so full of all the words he wished to donate to the others pale and elegant hands, willing to pile each and every possession he had stolen from those foolish and childish palms back, all stacked so neatly and still immaculate, even though some of those sacred trinkets had the appearance of slight wear.

"Kiku…"

And that universe allowed room for the man who had destroyed so many of those cosmos. The eyes once watching those shining deities was handed to a different sort of ruler, the entire life of the former child glowing inside two wells brimming with ink.

"I'm sorry…"

There was a box inside the Englishman hands, and Kiku observed it, yet did not create comment on those previous words or the article kept so safely between those battered fingers.

"I've uh…done a lot of lying and I've hurt several people…And in the last few months I've found myself unhappy, being the cause of so many depressing lives…And I'd like to apologize, more wholly this time." There was a pause and a forced swallow. "I know it won't mean much…But I figured it would mean more than nothing at all."

Kiku regarded him with more interest.

"Well…I've never really had an easy life…No one ever taught me to be kind. Honestly, I don't remember anyone even being there _to_ teach me…But you were kind, at least, you tried to be…Maybe it was just from fear, but I can remember nice words you've said to me…And I didn't understand it because so few people had given me that sort of thing. So…I loved you. And when Alfred came and took you away, I just wasn't willing to give you up…Because I was greedy and needed you for myself…And I'm sorry. I ah-" A pause made lengthily and brows seeping against those lashed frames. "I should have just let you leave with Alfred…You were too upset to feign loving me, anyway. And I'm sorry about that…"

Another deep volume of concentration born of a filthy hybrid containing utter shock and conflicting emotions.

"…So, I want you to have this."

The box was allowed another possessor and without much hesitation the lid was taken from that heavy body, and the lovely creature's heart began to flutter. Several letters from Alfred sat upon a great sea of currency, and the amount ready to soar to unheard heights. The weight of the chest suddenly crushed Kiku's thighs and a stare deep with question was directed at the Englishman a long moment.

"What is all this?"

"It's all the money you've made me."

And for some odd reason, Kiku could not even touch comprehension to that scene set so strangely around him. It was as though he was not supposed to have that steep allowance, convinced he was never to be allowed more than silk and mere nourishment.

"Mr. Kirkland…" His mouth was doused in a great drought and he wished for that wondrous relief of words to fall upon broken land.

"I'm going to close the Pavilion…And I'm going back to London. I've been here too long anyway. It doesn't seem right that even English is starting to sound like Gibberish."

Kiku regarded the man at his side almost as though he had been lost, all those words having twisted meaning and nonsensical sound.

"So…You can go. And again, I'm sorry…I hope that you can find something that makes you happy."

As Arthur rose, Kiku propelled himself to those tired feet as well, placing that grand article upon the stone behind him and conversing with that conflicted man fluently within their gaze.

They stood for minutes that felt as centuries, and finally, Kiku injected action into his limbs, draping that foul and dejected body inside an embrace that wept of forgiveness the bearer had not yet experienced before.

"Thank you, Arthur…"

There was nothing Kiku could have done to alter that horrid past and neither could the man who had mangled all of that time for his own need. But a heart had been passed to a new set of blades and instead of holding that blackened organ with such rage, the new owner embraced it, and held the apology Arthur had so painstakingly built, those words plucked from a soul rancid with the greatest hatred of all. It was as taking a fragment of gold from a great mound of wetted dirt, and each word that had been donned upon the younger's palms had been the most unfettered of that precious substance.

Arthur had given his apology, and without the ability to alter time's cruel hold upon all if history, Kiku accepted it, his arms wide and his core so far within the sky, hovering pleasantly above the Pavilion. It's Aura of filth and horror gone, and all the pricy chains sent around the whores' ankles and hearts had dissolved to dust the clarity of a diamond, as if they had been construed of fragile glass the entire endurance of their entire lives.

"I'm going to go home now. Thank you for my letters…"

"Home?"

"Yes…"

"Where is that, Kiku?"

"Wherever I decide to make it…Wherever feels right."

The rest of that day was spent preparing for wherever home may have been, all of Kiku's things falling as corpses into trunks and all his possessions carried away to be placed outside those steps of powerful stone.

He would begin his life again; perhaps begin his true existence for the very first instance. Kiku did not know where those kindly tides would bring him, nor did he know what would occur when he arrived. But he did not stray from the water calling his name so sweetly. His feet sent him running with unbendable determination not to drown, and his mind carried only the images of all those people he once knew, Ivan, Arthur, Alfred, Yao, and even the sibling Hong in all his justifiable rage.

He would keep their faces locked within his chest; they were far too memorable to be abandoned to the unforgiving grasp of ages.

And Kiku drifted away that morning, into the rising sun, precious tangibles kept with him, an entire box of words and possibilities, as well as that heavy necklace kissing gently to his collarbone. The smallest weighed heavily upon his arm, but its importance was too great to be allowed into a haphazard grasp.

The Crimson Lily Pavilion did not see that shining soul another time, and those shifting legs did not move quickly enough.


	63. Epilogue

That body held the clothing of a Japanese man and found home within that embrace; the wearer found home upon the ship that would guide him so faithfully to Kyoto; he found home within the thoughts circling so peacefully around his mind.

There would be an accent living inside his mouth as an urchin within a cave, and all the Japanese that would have been bestowed against his tongue would be created, so new to those curious fingers and struggling throat, but in an odd way, there was home within that conflict as well.

There was home inside that abundant future; home kept inside an honest job and clean money; home left inside the faces that might so resemble his; home in all the things former and erased; home in all the things new, and home drenched upon The Land of the Rising Sun, bathed so beautifully in those pink _sakura_ trees of spring and embellished by jewels welded into the shapes of chrysanthemums.

His eyes closed and his arms spread wide, embracing the wind kissing so sweetly to all the parts of him and taking his limbs into their wondrous care, regarding them as the most costly of garments, and in a way, they were, so many tossing their lives away into a dangerous and unlikely gamble, all for the taste of that movement whirling so easily around them.

Tears were not taken from his wetted cheeks, and sobs were not stolen from his peaceful throat.

Finally, a life could be held, and with each sweet gust that rushed so quickly past him, that soul came closer to that desired experience, tasting as the rare and fantastic candies of New Year.

He smiled; he laughed, and he cried, the seed once so trampled into the barren ground finally allowed to blossom as the richest of growth inside a colorful garden bed. Reaching towards the gods and never making attempts to slow. That bloom illuminated the sky so washed in white clouds with its flesh the richest of crimson.

And that growing seed was joyous, as it was not allowed to be before.


End file.
